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PRINTED BY 

BOOK AND JOB DEPARTMENT 
BROOKLYN DAILY EAGLE 
BROOKLYN-NEW YORK 






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STORIES 

FOR 

CARMENCITA: 


SALVADOR CALDERON Ra^W^ 

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SS-^ 





TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH 
BY 

ALOYSIUS C. GAHAN 
MEMBER OF THE NEW YORK BAR 


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Copyright, 1914, 
by 

SALVADOR CALDERON R. 






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DEC 19 1914 


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To the Memory of 

Carmen, 

My Wife, beloved in Life and in Death, 
This Volume 
Is 


inscribcb 


■ 


CONTENTS 


Translator’s Preface • 7 

Foreword to Carmencita 10 

Around the Cradle 13 

Her First Word 19 

A Headful of Rags 24 

Wax Fruits 31 

The Chattering of the Flowers 38 

A Hellenic Legend 44 

False Nobility 50 

A Rare Virtue 58 

The Force of Instinct 64 

Question and Answer 69 

For Just a Few Feathers 74 

The Hiding Place of the Infant God 79 

Sweetly Simple 86 

Two Candles 92 

The Affected Bluestocking 97 

As You Sow, So Shall You Reap 105 

Maximus Blockhead 109 

The Gold-Laden Donkeys 116 

Wind in the Head 121 

Living by the Quill 126 

A Sad Christmas Eve 131 

The Joker Outwitted 135 

The Soles of the Shoes 139 

Blows and Flowers 145 

The Bag of Truths 149 

The Lantern 155 

The Immortal Amaranth 161 

Eyes That See Not 166 

Broadway Snow 170 


“Una Donna piu bella assai del Sole 
E piu lucente, e di maggior etade, 

Mandata giu sulla terrestre mole 
Dalle celesti lucide contrade, 

Per dissipar col suo divin fulgore 
La cieca nebia dell’umano errore.” 

Pignotti — Origine della Favola. 


Translator’s Preface 

i^jWjrlGNOTTI, the Italian poet, relates 
in effect that ‘a lady more beautiful 
and more lustrous than the sun, 
mjfiS r came to earth from celestial re- 
AJC' gions, to dissipate with her divine 
splendor the dark clouds of human error/ 
This lady’s name was Fable, and she was, 
undoubtedly, the identical one who, as nar- 
rated by Florian, encountered Truth naked, 
neglected and cold upon the highway, and 
shared her cloak with her, so that travelling 
together, they might both be well received by 
all; — Fable, by the wise ones, for the sake of 
Truth by whom she was accompanied; while 
those who were less wise would welcome 
Truth for the sake of the grace and beauty of 
Fable and the opulence of her robes. 

Since the dawn of human progress, the short 
story with its striking moral, has ever been a 
popular and effective means of imparting in- 
struction. 

Philosophers and sages of all epochs and 
countries have evinced the high estimation in 
which Fable has been held by them. Plato 
would exclude Socrates from his republic, but 


7 


would give place therein to the Phrygian fabu- 
list. 

And what more natural than that the father 
of a beloved daughter should seek to convey 
instruction to her through the medium of short 
stories? Thus would he afford her mental 
pleasure as well as spiritual benefit. 

And what tribute more graceful, intimate 
and heartfelt, to the memory of that daughter’s 
mother could be conceived, than the collection 
in a dainty volume of those stories that were 
written by the father in the delightful radiance 
of that mother’s smile? 

If these stories have impressed their morals 
upon the mind and heart of Carmencita, it is 
not improbable that a similar good effect may 
be wrought by them upon other Carmencitas 
into whose hands the book may come. Should 
this result ensue, the author will be compen- 
sated anew for his labor of love. 

But why should the advantage derivable 
from a perusal of these tales be limited to those 
who enjoy familiarity with the harmonious, 
sonorous, language of Castile? 

The translator has endeavored to reproduce 
the work in English, so that the enjoyment 
and benefit contemplated by the author may 
be participated in by a wider circle of readers. 

The drawings with which the book is em- 


8 


bellished are from the pen of Mr. Otto Busch, 
of the American Press Association, New York, 
of whose artistic work the author desires to 
express his keen appreciation. 

ALOYSIUS C. GAHAN. 


New York, August, 1914. 


9 


Foreword to Carmencita 



My Beloved Daughter: 

OUR mother, who dwells in heaven 
and in my heart, wished me to 
write this book for you. 

Of these stories the greater num- 
? ber were penned at the domestic 
hearth, when your mother was rocking the 
cradle in which you were peacefully reposing, 
and while she was watching over you with 
her beautiful eyes or lulling you to gentle 
slumber with the melody of her song. 

Her soul reflected the most refined feminine 
virtues, and these she cultivated in an atmos- 
phere of poetic and exquisite sweetness that 
animated her entire being, — a sweetness which 
shone in her pensive countenance, was heard 
in the cadence of her voice and was visible in 
the grace and elegance of her each and every 
action. 

Life has been saddened for me since she 
departed for ever; but my heart retains the 
immortal memory of her presence, and when 
I recall the past her image appears before me 
illuminated with all the resplendence of her 
moral beauty. 


10 


When you are reading these stories, beloved 
Carmencita, think that you are conversing 
with your mother, for it was in the radiance 
of her love that I wrote them, stimulated by 
the interest with which your unknown future 
inspired us. You will talk with her across the 
invisible barrier of death, and you will fancy 
that you hear her voice explaining to you the 
inestimable worth of goodness, beauty and 
truth of soul, the three gifts with which her 
spirit was eminently endowed. 

Thus you will experience the spiritual trans- 
fusion of her soul into your own; and your 
heart will be ennobled in the possession of 
those amiable Christian virtues which she 
never failed to practice. 

I, also, shall be obliged to leave you, and 
close my eyes upon the light of this life. This 
is a tribute we must all pay to Mother Nature; 
but these pages will remain to speak to you of 
me and to keep my memory green in your in- 
most spirit. 

In fancy I project myself into the future, 
imagining myself as already reposing in the 
fullness of immortal life, and I behold you 
approaching my sepulchre as you read the final 
pages of this little book, and I realize that the 
object of your visit to my tomb is to say to 
me: 


11 


^*Papa, I understand the desire that agi- 
tated your heart: it was that you wished me 
to resemble my mother!” 



12 



Around the Cradle 

OW I can appreciate the tender 
muse of Amicis. 

My baby, reposing upon a cush- 
ion, lies tucked in her cradle, wav- 
ing her arms as if she wanted to 
time to its rocking. 

I feast my eyes upon her, my beloved 
13 




little angel appears to be a poem of roses and 
snow. I bend over her, and the cherub face is 
adorned with the sweetest of smiles, the joy 
of her being breaking forth in small cries and 
musical mutterings that prove she is happy 
and contented. She opens her eyes and soft 
beams of light issue from the depths of their 
blue pupils; she moves her little body and while 
with one of her tiny hands she pulls at my 
beard, with the other she attacks my throat. 
Perhaps she imagines that I am an immense 
doll and, doubtless, wishes to strangle me. The 
action and the activity with which it is ac- 
companied, show that she has put forth all 
of her energy to consummate her crime. As 
she cannot accomplish her object, she loosens 
her grip and plants her little feet upon my 
forehead. 

Then I begin to talk to her, and in a gruff 
and terrible tone, I say to her : “Miss, you are 
a bad girl; you have no daughterly affection, 
wanting to assassinate your papa.” I impute 
to her the monstrous crime of parricide, and 
I sentence her to receive a thousand . . . 

kisses. Yes, indeed, she must be punished, 
and I kiss her upon the mouth, the eyes, the 
forehead and upon the cheeks: and I kiss her 
bald, shining pate, her throat, her breast, her 


14 


shoulders. What a cruel man am I, being 
utterly insatiable! I continue to caress her, 
now raining my kisses upon the small feet, so 
sweetly rosy, as they present themselves here 
and there. Thus would I punish her eternally; 
no thought of time would distract my atten- 
tion; and I would spend hours, days, yea years 
of my life absorbed in contemplating and chas- 
tising her; that is to say in kissing her. 

She begins to be impatient; she makes a 
slight noise with her little nostrils as a signal 
of annoyance; she is irritated; she tries to 
mutter and I notice that anger is about to ap- 
pear upon her face. Gently I terminate the 
role I am playing of old man terrible, and 
shortly afterwards we are at peace. A smile, 
soft and sweet as the dawn, blooms again upon 
her ruby lips; and she seems to say to me: 

T am the promise of felicity; I shed around 
me happiness and joy, and with my indescrib- 
able warblings, I can dispel the mists of 
sadness that hover round hearts stricken by 
misfortune. As I am Aurora, I illuminate the 
horizons of the future, and cause them to glow 
in brilliant tones of magical beauty. A fairy 
am I that brings peace to the spirit, causing 
fountains of purest love to flow freely in the 
soul.’ 

She has ceased to smile: she is now serious. 


15 


and as I observe an almost imperceptible 
wrinkle upon her brow, I imagine that in the 
mysterious recesses of that infantile mind, 
some subtle, delicate thought is passing. I 
desire to translate what she is unable to ex- 
plain to me by the use of language. In the 
reflection of her eyes, blue as the heavens, 
sweetly soft and tender, I can trace what she 
would say. She tells me that the cares and 
vigilance bestowed upon her today, will be re- 
paid by her at a time which, perhaps, is not 
very distant; that when the frost of the years 
shall whiten my locks, and my frame is bent 
as though it would seek repose in the gentle 
breast of Mother Earth, she will be my joy and 
staff, and with sweet caresses she will lighten 
the rigors of advancing age. 

Then I interrogate myself : Will that little 
head, now softly reclining upon the pillow, be 
the seat of grand thoughts? Will that little 
heart, whose gentle movement I can behold 
at this moment, become in time the sanctuary 
of beauteous and noble sentiments? Will she 
conserve unsullied as the most precious of all 
treasures, that immaculate virtue which 
through the operation of mysterious, maternal 
inheritance, she has received from the mother 
who gave her birth? What future awaits my 
adored, little daughter? 


16 


My imagination limns other illusions: when 
my home in the course of years is impaired by 
the ravages of time, my daughter, like a celes- 
tial light, will shine in the ancient homestead, 
brightening it with her tenderness, giving it 
heat and life, irradiating youth. Then my 
thoughts will revert to by-gone days; she will 
cause the flowers of fantasy to spring to life 
afresh, and, perhaps, in the contour of her face, 
in the tone of her voice, in the grace of her 
movements and in the tenderness of her spirit, 
I shall again behold the same physical attri- 
butes, the same gentleness and sweetness of 
her who has been my inseparable companion. 
Yes, the dearest recollections of my life shall 
be revived and she will cause the smiling beams 
of joyous youth to surge around me, as though 
she wielded a fairy wand. She will be the link 
connecting the future, then dead, with the 
sweet and cherished past. 

Absorbed in these reflections, I gaze into the 
cradle. Hush! She, my idolized baby, sleeps. 
The same sweet eternal smile is on her face, 
as though it were stereotyped there. From 
her mouth, fresh as a mountain flower, issues 
the softest of breaths. I withdraw upon tip- 
toe, and in my heart of hearts, I utter this sup- 
plication: 


2 


17 


“Oh, divine God, preserve and protect my 
child!” 


\ 



I 


18 



Her First Word 

P erhaps it is a lark I hear sing- 
ing? Or can it be the warble 
of the nightingale? As I doze in 
gentle slumber, overcome with 
drowsiness, I hear soft and dulcet 
cadences which fall upon my ear with delight- 


19 


ful harmony. My soul is suspended, as it were, 
in a heaven of dreams, and it is by degrees 
only that my intelligence appreciates those 
rhythmic sounds. 

Slowly I liberate myself from that morbid 
state of hallucination, and the reality dawns 
bright and pure upon my intellect. 

Exquisite, glorious melodies flutter and 
vibrate upon the circumambient air; and the 
music, reaching unto my heart, arouses my 
drowsy sensibility. 

No longer have I the smallest doubt! That 
song issues from my baby’s cradle. In musi- 
cal syllables she exclaims for the first time : 

“Papa! Papa!” 

My senses have not deceived me. All uncer- 
tainty is over, for with persistent persever- 
ance she repeatedly utters the word: Papa. 
I cannot resist the magical influence of her 
voice. Within my soul I realize a sense of joy, 
lively, buoyant, intimate. 

With unspeakable delight my ear received 
the notes of her infantile lisping : just as I had 
received the white, celestial caress which the 
good God sent to me from the regions of im- 
mortality beyond the skies. My heart filled 
with a sweet and radiant happiness, I ap- 
proached the foot of the cradle, and there stood 
absorbed in the contemplation of my beloved. 


20 


little pet. She was smiling; eternally smiling 
and repeating the same syllable. 

What extraordinary spiritual agitation that 
small, simple word can excite! It can even 
assuage grief, because it is the reflection of 
divine and eternal felicity. 

Pronounced by the lips of my beloved child, 
it made upon my mind an impression more pro- 
found than would an abstruse philosophical 
dissertation. That utterance indicates the first 
idea, the first conception of that tender mind. 
Does my little one, by the use of that word, 
seek to translate the first impulse of her intel- 
lectual life? Is not that word, perhaps, the 
material vehicle through which she is desir- 
ous of manifesting the first thought, subtle, 
gracile and impalpable, which is germinating 
in her mind? 

I have been a most interested spectator of 
this slow development. When baby is happy, 
a blessed, luminous smile, like the beam of 
Aurora, flickers upon her lips. When she suf- 
fers or is irritated, I can perceive her discon- 
tent in her movements, in her gestures and in 
the contractions of her countenance. 

Now she has reached the mysterious line 
that separates the two different modes of ex- 
pression. The psychological moment that 


21 


divides natural and articulate language, has 
arrived. 

In speech she is now seeking an instrument 
of thought and, in true accord with the phil- 
osophy of Locke, she records her ideas by 
means of sounds. 

She now forgets all peevishness, fretfulness 
and the making of grimaces, in order to mani- 
fest, although in a vague manner, the mild, 
delicate sentiments with which my presence 
inspires her. 

My heart whispers to me that in lisping that 
syllable, her tiny cherub soul is endeavoring 
to express the sentiment it feels for me. 

How sweet it would be if I might thus for 
all time converse with my dear, little darling! 
That simple word, uttered by her lips, is a 
complete, brilliant sentence whose radiant 
beams illuminate my soul. It is a tender poem 
and my paternal heart scans the verse with 
exquisite pleasure. 

Therefore, as I listen to her prattle, I experi- 
ence the most ineffable sensations. To me it 
seems as though a wave of celestial music had 
inundated my spirit. My entire being is sus- 
pended in a medium of poetic dreams. 

That small syllable, which is mayhap mono- 
tonous to others, exercises a wondrous charm, 
a magical influence, upon my faculties. 


22 


In giving utterance to that expression, my 
child transmutes her first thought into langu- 
age; and my spirit hails and welcomes that 
thought, for I feel it to be the gentlest of in- 
tangible caresses with which her soul would 
fondle mine. 



23 



A Headful of Rags 


Y little girl jumped upon my lap, 
and assuming an air of gravity, 
said to me: 

“Papa, tell me a story.” 

The tone of the request was so 
compelling, and the child so wrought upon me 



24 


with a smiling and supplicating glance, that 
I had no alternative, but to scratch the crown 
of my head and proceed to narrate the follow- 
ing story: 

Violet’s mother was crying most bitterly, 
inconsolable in her affliction. 

“My daughter is dying,” said the heart- 
broken mother. Approaching the bed she 
placed her hand upon the brow of the sick 
girl and pressed it with some force. Violet, 
in a swoon, was reclining upon some large 
cushions, suffering from a most horrible faint- 
ing spell. 

The doctors came very soon and carefully 
examined their very beautiful patient. They 
felt her pulse; they listened to the beating of 
her heart and carefully noted the gentle noise 
caused by her breathing. In a secret session 
they discussed at great length the symptoms 
of the extraordinary disease of which their 
patient was the victim. They consulted 
ancient tomes handed down from the days of 
Hippocrates and cudgelled their very wise 
brains; but their labor was in vain; they could 
not comprehend and, therefore, could not diag- 
nose the malady with which Violet was af- 
flicted. 

After a ball one night, the unfortunate young 
girl felt sharp pains of a most dreadful char- 


25 


acter in the interior of her brain; but the cir- 
cumstances which, above all others, caused her 
mother the greatest despair was that Violet’s 
head grew larger and larger with frightful 
rapidity. 

Yes, the bony mass of the cranium grew 
larger hour by hour. 

Violet’s eyes which but a little while before 
were as beautiful as twin stars, grew to an 
immense, awful size; her lips which had re- 
sembled two poppy-leaves, were stretched at 
that moment from ear to ear showing her 
teeth, and although these were like pearls a 
short time previously, anyone beholding them 
now would think that her ribs were coming 
out through her mouth. 

“My daughter is dying,” the mother was 
exclaiming. In order to endeavor to calm the 
dreadful affliction from which Violet was suf- 
fering, one of the disciples of Galen placed cer- 
tain slabs upon Violet’s forehead, and he made 
a strong bandage with some long strips of 
strong linen, but the head continued to grow 
and the compressing apparatus was shivered 
into a thousand pieces. 

Horror of horrors ! 

Her head was no longer human, for it had 
swollen so large that it had attained the pro- 
portions of a colossal globe. 


26 


Suddenly, the oldest of the doctors, who was 
a boy in the time of Methusalem, exclaimed: 
“I have it; trepanning!” 

He brought into play the hammer, the chisel 
and the trepan and, as though he were tapping 
a melon, he opened a good-sized hole in Violet’s 
head. 

Not one drop of blood issued from the 
wound! 

The surgeons were stricken with wonder. 
They questioned the operator who, paying no 
attention to his colleagues, inserted his rugged 
fingers in the open gap. 

With breathless, indefinable anxiety the 
physicians in attendance awaited the result. 

As the surgeon withdrew his hand, all pres- 
ent observed that a large band of ribbon was 
streaming from his fingers. Again he inserted 
his right hand and drew forth a silk dress with 
embroidered lapels. The operator continued 
his task, in this manner, extracting from 
Violet’s head numerous satin ornaments, edg- 
ings of the finest lace; ample sleeves adorned 
with exquisite back-stitching; Japanese waists; 
buttons presenting wonderful combinations of 
colors; a corset of silk crash, ribbed with 
whalebone, and many other articles of a similar 
nature. 


27 


According as the doctor removed these 
things from the patient’s head, it gradually 
resumed its natural size. The hands of the 
surgeon were still active, and, as in a rich 
stream, they brought forth the finest fabrics; 
soft mousselines; rich velvets; diaphanous 
gauzes; light multi-colored flowerets; curled 
pompons; spangles of gold, silver and mother 
of pearls; waving plumes and dragon-flies of 
brilliant and extraordinary hues. 

Violet’s head was like the show-case of some 
luxurious store. We would never end were we 
to attempt to describe in detail the unusual 
wealth of the collection. Her mother even for- 
got for a moment the sufferings of her daugh- 
ter in order to admire some very fine Irish 
lace and Alengon point which the doctor had 
removed from Violet’s brain. All of fhe subtle 
grace and airy lightness of Parisian art had 
found lodgment therein. 

When old Methusalem had made the walls 
of the skull perfectly clean, he washed the 
cavity with a solution of sublimate, and then 
proceeded to close the ghastly orifice. The 
blood was thus permitted to circulate properly 
in that weak organism, and a sweet smile hov- 
ered upon Violet’s lips. 

Friends, physicians and students, all ques- 
tioned the doctor who, in a voice shaking with 


28 


age, explained the mystery in the following 
manner: 

‘‘The sparrow-brain of this beautiful girl, 
as my experience revealed to me, had no other 
occupation than that of dreaming of luxury 
and vain ostentation. She had forgotten the 
noble impulses and delicate sentiments which 
should adorn her sex. She disdained domestic 
duties and devoted herself solely to the wor- 
ship of her pretty, little person. Pursuing that 
programme, she concentrated her thoughts 
upon brilliant and fascinating luxury, and by 
a process which science cannot explain, her 
ideas undergoing perpetual strain finally be- 
came transformed into laces and silks. 

“I declare, believing that there is no possi- 
bility of mistake, that this young girl’s brain 
was composed of immense bundles of rags.” 

Violet was almost miraculously saved, and it 
is related in the chronicles that the girl, filled 
with sorrow and repentance, renounced from 
that day forth her gay and trifling mode of life 
and thereafter paid but little attention to laces, 
silks, ribbons or lacquer-work. She cultivated 
with singular delicacy, the admirable virtue 
symbolized by her name, that is to say. Mod- 
esty, that radiant virtue which survives the 
transformations that time with relentless hand 
traces upon the female countenance. 


29 


Therefore, little daughter, avoid the con- 
tagion of that moral itch called luxury. If you 
do not take my advice, what happened to 
Violet is likely to happen to you and your 
brain may turn into a big bundle of rags. 



30 



Wax Fruits 

N response to an invitation which 
they had received from Jupiter, the 
father of the gods, the beautiful 
women of Athens were punctual in 
making their appearance in the 
Olympic Garden situated in Eleusis. 



31 



What a picturesque group they presented! 
Some of the ladies were robed in that species 
of mantle known as the classic himation^their 
small feet encased in sandals and their heads 
crowned with garlands of flowers. Others, 
clad in gauzy waists and flowing skirts, dis- 
played bracelets of pure gold upon their 
wrists. Their faces, anointed with rouge and 
perfumed oils, were radiant with happiness. 

As here and there they appeared upon the 
different paths in the garden, they resembled 
dryads, the guardians of the mystery of that 
delightful grove of evergreen oaks. 

Satyrs, with their tails and goat-legs, were 
in hiding behind the trunks of the trees, ad- 
miring the youth and beauty of the women. A 
breath of joy was floating upon the air, while 
the crystalline laughter and the sweet, musical 
speech of the Athenian girls lent an additional 
charm to Nature. 

Alexandrian roses of brilliant tints enlivened 
the dark green hue of the vines, and in that 
hallowed orchard the most exotic and rarest 
of flowers had been transplanted from foreign 
and distant lands. Lillies were floating upon 
the glassy surface of the waters of the ponds, 
and mysterious lotus-flowers were swaying 
lightly in the gentle breeze. Pendant among 
the tendrils of the vines were abundant clusters 


32 


of grapes whose purple and green tones exhib- 
ited a varying play of colors exciting desire to 
enjoy the pleasure of tasting the exquisite 
juice. Egyptian dates, Euboean apples, the 
finest Cyrenean pears, and figs and straw- 
berries from Sirtella abounded in that garden. 
In fine, the sweetest and most delicious fruits 
of the earth were hanging upon the trees, 
awakening the appetite of those fair Greeks 
assembled there by the father of the gods. 
With what enthusiasm did the Grecian women 
welcome this great honor bestowed upon their 
daughters ! 

How they would relish those delicate fruits ! 
The girls seemed like birds at liberty when 
they reached that part of the orchard. And 
before tasting the delicious gifts which were 
presented to them in the Olympic Garden by 
Juno’s illustrious spouse, they chanted some 
melodious lyrics: 

The flower-laden branches 
Of the olive trees are white; 

The leaf-crowned vines are swaying 
In the breezes soft and light. 

While drooping from the parent stem 
Are fruits that please the sight. 

While thus they warbled verses of the son 
of Teos, a wave of entrancing music resounded 
through that exuberant and wonderful garden. 


3 


33 


"‘Oh, Jupiter! Creator of the Universe! 
Source of Life! hear our grateful voices.” 
Thus they offered their thanks, all of them 
placid and contented and full of ineffable hap- 
piness in having received preference from the 
great god. 

Poetic songs, accompanied by the music of 
the pectide and the lyre, were echoing through 
the fresh, pure atmosphere. 

The branches bent beneath the weight of 
the most graceful maids of Greece, who with 
lily-white hands plucked the sweetest and 
most luscious of the fruits. Amid the buzz of 
cheerful gossip they devoted themselves to the 
delightful task. 

Upon a smooth, grassy plot they piled the 
apples and the grapes, the figs and the straw- 
berries and all the varied fruits that grew as 
if in competition in that sacred orchard. 

But, oh, what happened when, gathered 
around the smiling crop, the girls began to 
place the grapes, and the figs and the straw- 
berries in their pretty, little mouths! 

Upon the countenances of all of them the 
most violent anger was clearly visible; their 
indignation was dreadful to behold! 

“We have been deceived! The fruits are 
only wax!” they exclaimed. 


34 


“Oh, Phoebus, divine archer ! We have been 
made ridiculous! 

“Diana, divine huntress! wound with thy 
silver bow the perfidious beings who have 
mocked us! 

“Thou, Hades! who rulest the empire of 
darkness, rise against Jupiter, since he has 
treated the daughters of Athens with con- 
tempt! 

“The fruits are of wax, but in order that the 
trick might be complete they have been made 
to resemble closely the colors of the natural 
fruit!” 

Amid their cries of indignation, the charge 
was repeatedly echoed by those juvenile 
voices : 

“Anathema and calamity be upon thee, 
Jupiter!” 

Suddenly the garden trembled. The angry 
maids lapsed into silence and, brooding o’er 
the foliage, the king of the gods appeared. 
From beneath his diadem a wealth of lu- 
minous, golden hair fell upon his regal shoul- 
ders. In his right hand he brandished the 
thunderbolts which the Cyclops had forged for 
him. The glorious lips moved, and he spoke: 

“Why do the descendants of Theseus pollute 
their tongues with such imprecations?” 

The girls replied in chorus: “We have been 


35 


deceived. Instead of sound, sweet and savory 
fruits, we have eaten wax, so well have thine 
artists. Oh, Jupiter! imitated Nature.” 

‘‘But,” thundered Jupiter, “the women of 
Athens practice the same deceit upon all the 
gallant, young men of Attica.” 

“Never! never!” cried the indignant maidens. 

“I will prove it easily,” said Jupiter. “In the 
theatre of Dionysus; in the Portico of the Cary- 
atides; in the Propylaeum; in the sacred tem- 
ples and in other public places all of you 
present yourselves with your faces besmeared 
with cosmetics furnished you by art. You 
make men believe that your cheeks are soft, 
sound and rosy, while they are nothing but 
snares contrived in the secrecy of the boudoir. 
The unwary bite at the bait, and find but wax, 
as you did just now. This, therefore, is a 
providential, Olympian reprimand.” 

Their faces burning with shame, the 
Athenian maidens who had given such an ex- 
hibition of anger, were plunged into a state of 
indefinable depression. 

They made a most solemn vow to avoid for 
all time the use of perfumed unctions, carmine 
pastes and other feminine artifices. They 
learned to realize that the resplendent gifts of 
Nature are inimitable. 

And when Jupiter beheld them in this re- 


36 


pentant condition and purified by remorse, the 
mighty god bowed his majestic head and in the 
midst of rosy clouds ascended to the heaven 
of Olympus. 



37 




The Chattering of the Flowers 

FRAGRANT zephyr was wafted 
over the garden of Uncle Eustace. 

The roses showed their flaming 
corollas, contrasting vividly with 
the verdant hue of the leaves; and 
the Japanese camellias, placed in the center of 



38 



the garden, with their virgin whiteness resem- 
bled cups of snow scattered over the foliage. 

Queenly and beautiful, other exquisite blos- 
soms lifted their heads in profusion towards 
the skies. 

These glorious flowers were all cultivated 
with care and maternal solicitude by Uncle 
Eustace’s daughter, a maiden bright as the sun 
and fresh as the waters of a bubbling spring. 

She was in the habit of spending entire days 
in the garden, engaged in the peaceful enjoy- 
ment of her task, breathing the balmy air laden 
with the aroma exhaled by roses, jasmines, 
violets and sweet-basil. 

Upon a certain afternoon Celina, for that 
was the name of the daughter of Uncle Eus- 
tace, was sleeping in the shade of a thick vine, 
when she was awakened by an extraordinary 
sound which she could not account for. 

What a marvellous thing it was! From the 
adjoining trellis, soft and delicate sounds were 
borne to her ears. She could hear the gentle 
and melodious murmur of harmonious con- 
versation. The flowers were talking; there 
was not the smallest doubt of it. 

She arose quietly, very quietly, and went in 
search of her father and together they returned 
to listen to the animated conversation of the 
flowers. 


39 


In their ideal, almost imperceptible, lan- 
guage, they thus discoursed: 

“We do not like,” said the camellias, dis- 
playing the snowy whiteness of their blos- 
soms, “that the vulgar, little flowers of the 
field should treat us as equals. We are aristo- 
cratic flowers. The most beautiful girls and 
handsomest men give us the preference, ren- 
dering tribute to the immaculate purity of our 
petals.” 

“Yes!” exclaimed a flower upon a rose-bush, 
whose purple tints were shining beautiful amid 
many branching stems, “they call me the Rose 
of Castile, and this proclaims my noble an- 
cestry!” 

“Do not let us be confounded with others of 
rustic and uncultured origin !” cried a magnolia. 

“Floral companions, let us unite and form 
an exclusive association!” This proposition 
was made by a gardenia, whose oval leaves 
were in a state of agitation, while its fragrant, 
snowy petals were shining in the sunlight. 

“We shall not admit the shoddy sweet- 
basil!” 

“Nor recognize sweet marjoram!” 

“Death to all common weeds and grasses!” 

This was the manner of their prattling talk, 
their quivers filled with venomous arrows 


40 


which they fired at the other modest little flow- 
ers. 

And oh ! what shame and confusion were suf- 
fered by the ignored and humble plants. 

Sad and sorrowful, the sweet-basil, mar- 
joram and their slighted companions wept bit- 
terly because they were so despised. 

“Did not God,” said they, “cause us to 
spring, all equal, from the fecund bosom of 
Mother Earth, so that harmoniously united we 
might demonstrate the divine wisdom of the 
Creator?” 

Sweetly, almost blushingly, they folded their 
leaves, their hearts full of sorrow because of 
the bad will of their sisters. Celina, deeply 
pensive, retired and marvelled to observe how 
human passions were manifested even by the 
flowers in her garden. 

The feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary came 
around in due course and Celina brought into 
activity her large, curved gardener’s scissors 
and went through the garden cutting the most 
sightly flowers. Then she formed a wreath 
which she carried as an offering and laid at the 
feet of the Virgin Mother. The roses, gar- 
denias, camellias and magnolias, were com- 
bined with the wild, uncultivated little flowers, 
for Celina had variegated her mystic offering 
with them all. 


41 


The young girl was greatly praised for the 
beauty of her artistic garland. It was, un- 
doubtedly, a poem of colors harmoniously 
blended. It exhaled an exquisite and delicate 
f ragance and it seemed that even the very beau- 
tiful image of the Virgin smiled with pleasure 
upon receiving the homage presented by 
Celina. 

While Celina was devoutly contemplating 
the Virgin, who was gloriously enthroned 
upon a luminous pedestal, Uncle Eustace drew 
near his daughter and whispered to her: 

“Observe how the flowers are united now!” 

“Yes,” she replied, “I have bound them 
together with strong thread. Now neither the 
camellias, nor the gardenias, nor the roses, 
display any ill-feeling towards their com- 
panions. The most beautiful in chorus with 
the humblest are now chanting a hymn of love 
and fraternity.” 

“So it is in the world,” continued Uncle 
Eustace, “the evil passions of pride and envy 
produce hateful class prejudices; but here in 
this sanctuary they disappear. Religion with 
its sacred and invisible threads binds souls 
together; and here in the house of God frater- 
nity, holy and humble, lives and endures — that 
fraternity which the adorable and gentle 
Galilean taught and fostered through the 


42 


medium of His glowing parables. The flowers, 
therefore, my daughter, in the presence of the 
Virgin Mary have washed away the stain of 
their horrible sin of pride.” 




A Hellenic Legend 


f HAT I am about to narrate to you 
occurred during the period of the 
legends and mysteries of Greece, 
that is, in the middle of the golden 
age; at least that is what I was told 
by the dervish with the long thick beard, who 
related the story to me. 


44 


Orpheus was superlatively beautiful, a per- 
fect type of Greek beauty. His large, black 
eyes sparkled with a soft radiance; and his 
nose which extended from his forehead in a 
straight line showed that he was a true and 
classic model of the Greek race. 

With his lyre he produced the sweetest musi- 
cal harmonies; and Eolus, the god of the winds, 
carried the rapturous melodies upon his wings, 
bearing them in all directions. Men, women, 
children, even nature itself, were all profoundly 
moved when Orpheus touched the chords of his 
instrument and caused their vibrations to blend 
in a glorious concord of celestial music. 

In Thrace, the native land of the divine 
musician, he wrought unspeakable wonders 
with his lyre. He tamed the wild and savage 
nature of the Cyclops, monstrous giants who 
had only one eye in their foreheads. At the 
sound of his golden harp, these became mild 
and gentle and declared that they were over- 
come by the enchantment of the sublime 
melody. 

The Centaurs, those strange creatures, half- 
man and half-horse, were terrible and warlike, 
but they became meek and humble at the sound 
of the harmonious lyre. 

Thus the sweet bard roamed through the 


45 


world, and wherever he went he was always 
victorious. 

He bewitched with his music the wild boar 
of Erymanthus, enabling Hercules to capture 
it. He tamed the ill-omened birds of Lake 
Stymphalis, who sowed the seeds of death and 
desolation. 

The furious bulls of Crete, whose eyes blazed 
with the fire of Avernus, were metamorphosed 
into gentle lambs, the Orphean lyre, with its 
magical power, having dissipated their dread- 
ful violence. 

An infamous tyrant of Chalcidice was in the 
habit of beheading his slaves and bathing in 
the warm blood of his victims. The people, 
trembling at the abominations of that cruel and 
depraved despot, had recourse to the son of 
Apollo who transformed this human monster 
into the most clement of men. 

And so Orpheus traveled everywhere, lav- 
ishing the wondrous gifts that flowed in a 
steady stream from his Olympean talisman. 

On Mount Helicon, sacred to the Muses, the 
latter in the frenzy of enthusiasm danced an 
Ionic dance. The atmosphere resounded to 
the echo of crystalline voices, dulcet murmurs 
and exquisite canticles, and the melodious 
notes fell caressingly upon the hearts of those 
who heard them, awakening infinite aspira- 


46 


tions and immortal fantasies. Orpheus sailed 
in the expedition of the Argonauts in search 
of the Golden Fleece, and when returning he 
destroyed the fatal power of the Syrens. 

He descended into the regions of eternal 
darkness and there Orpheus so captivated the 
king of Hades, that Orpheus was able to save 
his wife Eurydice who was imprisoned in the 
frightful cave. 

Nothing resisted the magic of Orpheus! 
Zeus, the director of the universe, desired to 
subject him to a final test. 

Orpheus was upon the summit of a moun- 
tain, hoping that his father, Apollo, might ap- 
pear to him drawn by the four white horses 
that were harnessed to his resplendent car, 
when Zeus presented himself followed by a pale 
and beautiful young woman. In one hand the 
father of the gods carried the thunderbolts, 
while in the other he held the sceptre of ma- 
jesty. Blinded by the glittering splendor of 
his Olympean glory, Orpheus bowed down in 
adoration of the great god, kissing his mantle. 

Zeus commanded Orpheus to sound the lyre. 
This command was given by Zeus to see if it 
were possible to calm the angry impulses of 
the maiden by whom Zeus was accompanied. 
In the expression of the features of the pale 
maiden, it was easy to observe the irritation 


47 


that possessed her. Her eyes flashed; her 
nerves twitched, and the fury raging in her 
heart might be divined from the words that 
fell stammering from her lips. 

Orpheus sang to the music of the lyre. 

Streams of harmony issued from the instru- 
ment, and floated through space. Even the 
trees and the rocks of the earth were deeply 
moved; but the breast of the angry maiden 
remained unmollified. The divine artist em- 
ployed all his resources, but the terrible 
sphynx, the woman of bad temper, continued 
to be the victim of her evil sentiments. 

Dejected, and almost in despair, the son of 
Apollo flung away his harp and, prostrating 
himself before Zeus, he exclaimed: 

“The sound of my instrument has melted, 
tranquilized and softened all hearts. Mons- 
ters, ferocious beasts and cruel tyrants have 
yielded to its charm; but it can accomplish 
nought, oh, great Zeus, with this woman whose 
heart is ravaged by the passion of anger !” 

How the defeat of the youthful minstrel was 
regretted! 

In order to make amends to Orpheus, Gre- 
cian women from Thebes, from Argos, from 
the beauteous Vale of Tempe, from Delos and 
from Naxos, in fact from all parts of Greece, 
came and presenting themselves before the 


48 


handsome son of Apollo, swore to cultivate 
cheerfulness and good-humor as one of their 
moral duties. 

Hence it is that among the refinements of 
Hellenic culture, one beautiful quality has ever 
since existed, namely, control of the evil im- 
pulses of bad temper; for since that time 
Grecian women have been as sweet as the 
honey of Hymettus and as serene and peaceful 
as the luminous skies of Greece. 



4 


49 




False Nobility 

W ¥HAT an extraordinary thing it was! 

Last night the quiet, sweet serenity 
of my bedroom was interrupted by 
certain soft, almost imperceptible 
By sounds. I listened attentively, for 
I was certain that I heard murmurs of soft. 


50 


gentle voices, accompanied by strains of dulcet 
music, which seemed to come from afar. 

I could not resist the impulse of curiosity, 
and leaping from my bed, dressed quickly. I 
was now no longer in any doubt: the sounds 
proceeded from the adjoining room. 

Slowly, very, very slowly, I reached the com- 
municating door and, with some anxiety, 
peeped through the keyhole. The scene which 
I then beheld approached the supernatural ! 

So singular was it, that I felt certain I was 
the victim of an hallucination, or else that I 
was possessed of a nightmare. The evidence 
of my senses, however, soon convinced me of 
the reality of the scene upon which I gazed. 

Early that same night my little daughter had 
taken a fancy to inspect her varied collection 
of dolls. These lay scattered upon the floor, 
on the chairs and on the table, when their small 
proprietor, overcome by sleep, was put to bed. 

Well, as I peered through that keyhole what 
I realized was nothing less than that all of 
those dolls had been animated by a wonderful 
breath of life. It was their harmonious prattle 
that woke me. 

Through some magical operation, an old, 
rickety toy piano had been converted into a 
most tuneful instrument and the sweetest of 
notes, extracted from its keys by a bandy- 


si 


legged clown, were gently echoing through the 
room. 

Several of the dolls formed a circle around 
the clown, and I understood from the laughter 
that sometimes animated their faces that the 
artistic pianist was spicing his performance 
with roguish jests, and acting the intelligent 
buffoon. 

This facetious musician soon abandoned the 
piano and began a series of grotesque contor- 
tions which made all the little ladies laugh 
heartily. 

There were also several pretty babies com- 
fortably seated on lounges and chairs, playing 
as though they were real human babies of flesh 
and blood. 

The scene presented to my eyes was charm- 
ing and extremely picturesque. A pretty 
blonde, with her chubby hands, was smoothing 
the golden strands of hair that fell in profu- 
sion upon her shoulders. This lady’s elegant, 
graceful curves were concealed in a street cos- 
tume, Princess style. I could read in her coun- 
tenance of Parian marble that she was proud 
of her German origin; but this did not prevent 
her from having a little chat with certain dusky 
beauties, fashioned of Ilobasco clay, who were 
giving a lively narrative of their refined adven- 
tures. Perhaps she, too, was recounting to the 


52 


wondering creoles the charms, mysteries and 
legends of the hazy Rhine. She was inter- 
rupted by the harsh voice of a doll clad in a 
violet robe with embroidered lapels. This little 
damsel began to recite a description of Paris. 
She told the others how, ensconced in a show- 
window in the midst of gauzes and muslins, she 
beheld the human procession of the great cap- 
ital as it filed past the window. She made 
many astute observations concerning Parisian 
life and she said that, above all, what agitated 
her most was the large number of poor little 
girls who gazed upon her lovingly and long- 
ingly, and in whose glances she could read the 
infinite desire to possess her. 

What a beautiful picture ! The dolls, white, 
black and red were all here in intimate and 
familiar communication without the formality 
of conventional etiquette. 

Between singing, dancing and chatting, all 
found great diversion. It was a beautiful, fra- 
ternal feast in which were commingled the 
pretty little dolls that were born in the great 
factories of Paris, London and Berlin, with the 
more plebian damsels from Ilobasco who pre- 
sented the appearance of contemptible little 
women formed of baked clay. 

As nothing but innocence and candor were 
familiar to that society, the celluloid manni- 


53 


kins, with their shining, big paunches, revealed 
the curves of their bulky bodies in a state of 
pristine nakedness that immediately suggested 
the Garden of Eden before the fall. 

From my coign of vantage, I enjoyed the 
varying scenes of that evening party of young 
ladies and gallant youths — all manufactured 
of biscuit. The frolicsome clown went every- 
where, making extraordinary contortions and, 
playing upon the cymbals which he carried in 
his hands, producing a great clatter in the 
drawing-room. 

Two or three days previously I had pur- 
chased in a small shop, a half-dozen corn-cob 
dolls; and my little girl, disliking their pallid 
color, had painted them in an extraordinary 
manner. She concealed the pallor of their 
faces by the use of very fine rice-powder, and 
with some touches of carmine imparted a 
rosy hue to their cheeks. 

How my surprise grew apace as I now saw 
them form themselves into a separate group 
in the midst of that party. I fixed my atten- 
tion upon them and noticed that they appeared 
uppish and reserved, thus making it under- 
stood, by their affectation and grimaces that 
they did not take part in the amusement of 
the others, considering themselves of superior 
lineage. 


54 


A pretty little fellow, clad in a sailor’s blouse, 
invited these high-born ladies to dance the 
rigadoon with him, but they turned their backs 
upon him. Ashamed and mortified, after re- 
ceiving such a snubbing, the humble, little chap 
went behind the toy piano to hide his blushes. 

These damsels were certainly proud and 
affected ! 

Other girls who were present — girls of low 
birth — might allow themselves to be ap- 
proached by common dandies; but these 
haughty creatures would not stoop to take the 
hand of vulgar, ignorant people. They said so, 
themselves. 

A wave of anger floated through the draw- 
ing room. It began to manifest itself in low 
whispers; but the voices became gradually 
louder, calling for exemplary vengeance. Yes, 
indeed, the “other” girls were furious! 

Then the bow-legged clown, the untiring 
play-boy, took the notion of perpetrating a 
mischievous joke upon the false nobles. He 
turned several somersaults and, making a sud- 
den spring, he rapidly deprived of her skirts 
one of the maidens who had vaunted her high 
descent. 

At the same time the clown shouted: 

“Behold the letters patent of her nobility;” 


55 


and he held aloft so that all might see them, 
the common petticoats he had stripped from 
the doll. At this signal, the tiny blondes and 
brunettes, and the entire band of lilliputians 
made an attack upon the corn-cob ladies. 
Skirts, hats, waists, puffs, rats and all other 
trash that ornamented these very noble and 
proud princesses were quickly reduced to 
powder. 

In the midst of the confusion the buffoon, 
whose face was convulsed with laughter, cried 
out in his shrill accents: 

“Saw-dust nobility ! Codfish aristocracy !” 

And he laughed like a little devil, while the 
petite ladies of baked clay applauded with en- 
thusiasm. 

I withdrew from my post of observation as 
the early beams of the dawn were dissipating 
the shadows of the night. 

A thousand ideas were floating through my 
mind. I reflected that in the world of human- 
ity there are many such patents of nobility, 
certificates of the highest descent, but if we 
scrape them a little we would discover, as in 
the case of the dolls above-mentioned, nothing 
but the most homely and vulgar ancestry. 

It is only through their correct conduct and 
their practice of immortal virtue, that we can 


56 


appreciate any real difference between human 
beings. 



57 



A Rare Virtue 


NCE upon a time there was a 
king of I don’t know what country, 
for I think that his kingdom does 
not appear upon the map. 

No! No! I am mistaken! He 
was a great monarch, called Nazar I., king 



58 


and mighty ruler of the magnificent empire 
of Nerilan. 

Seated upon his brilliant throne, he resem- 
bled Apollo, radiant of youth and superlative 
beauty. His dark, glossy ringlets were visible 
beneath his regal crown, which was studded 
with topazes, sapphires, emeralds and di- 
amonds; and his beard, black as jet, descended 
in long curls from his chin, giving to his Su- 
preme Imperial Majesty a certain air of calm 
and peaceful dignity and serenity. 

He extended paternal protection to his 
slaves, freedmen and vassals. With eyes 
whose glance was gentle and benignant, he 
cherished them, shedding around him inex- 
haustible, infinite kindness. He spoke with a 
voice clear, crystalline and musical, and clem- 
encies and divine benedictions flowed from his 
lips upon the heads of his subjects. Hence, 
he was truly beloved by everybody. 

His decrees, conceived in justice, reflected 
the wisdom of Solomon, and as this king was 
benevolent and hospitable, he ruled peacefully 
and was cheerfully obeyed, not because of the 
strength of his arm, but by reason of the gentle 
meekness that blossomed in his heart. His 
people had no fear of him; on the contrary 
they loved him. The springs that animated 
his every action were equity and love. 


59 


Being young, handsome and brave, it was 
his desire that his glories, honors and wealth 
should be shared by a wife. Indeed he wanted 
nothing less than to enter the state of matri- 
mony. The heralds proclaimed, even in the 
most remote corners of the kingdom, this 
ardent wish of Nazar I. 

He fixed a day and hour for an assemblage, 
which might be attended by the most beautiful 
and accomplished maidens of Nerilan. 

The daintiest young ladies and those of 
fairest fame, as well as those of noblest lineage, 
all of them natives of the realm of His Im- 
perial Majesty, passed in review along the 
galleries of his palace. These galleries were of 
gold and marble, and were studded with spark- 
ling, precious stones. 

That array of youthful, feminine beauty 
presented a luminous and delicate amalgam of 
lines, colors and fascinating forms. 

Maidens with flaxen hair, light and golden 
as the sunbeams, whose eyes reflected the 
azure hue of heaven, sought by gentle sighs, as 
they passed, to reveal to the monarch the 
depth of their amorous affections. Brunettes, 
opulent and tempting of form, also passed in 
review in that line of living beauty and with 
the resplendent brilliance of their flashing 


60 


black eyes they endeavored to soften the 
marble heart of Nazar. 

An army of beauteous damsels passed and 
repassed, and the king whose eyes were mild 
and moist, he of the jet-black beard, silken and 
curly, remained unmoved. 

He chatted for a few moments with each of 
those belles, but the exhibition of beauty, 
grace and youth made no impression upon his 
royal heart. 

“He is incapable of love! His heart is as 
hard as a stone !” exclaimed these gentle crea- 
tures, who were unable to melt the granite 
heart of his majesty. 

Suddenly all observed that the monarch was 
engaged in a very animated talk with a young 
girl whose beauty was only middling. She 
was not radiantly handsome; but smiling and 
placid. That and nothing more. 

The other women, the exquisite beauties, 
those presenting ideal faces illuminated by 
bewitching eyes, murmured under their breath. 

Meantime Nazar I., King of Nerilan, main- 
tained an agreeable conversation with the 
poor and humble maiden, and the courtiers 
noticed the triumphant joy and the intimate 
and lively happiness that beamed in the regal 
countenance. 

Admiration became surprise when the mon- 


61 


arch seated the unknown young lady upon the 
throne. 

This was the signal of the royal preference. 

The unsuccessful maidens, desiring an ex- 
planation from the lips of the king, formed a 
circle around the throne. The king arose and 
placing his arm around the waist of the girl 
whom he had chosen, said: 

“She was the only one among you who in 
my presence praised the virtues of her friends. 
By equivocal expressions I tried to induce her 
to backbite her rivals, suggesting to her that 
her competitors were ill-favored, ill-tempered 
and of humbler descent; but with much ardor 
and true sincerity she praised their qualities, 
telling me that they were pretty, graceful, 
amiable and well bred. 

“I have discovered, therefore,” continued the 
king, “the philosopher’s stone of felicity. Sci- 
entific men, wise, learned men, even those who 
have studied deeply the complex and secret 
problems of the human heart, never dreamt 
that a woman existed who would speak well 
of other women, and above all of her absent 
friends.” 

“Until to-day the existence of such a woman 
was thought improbable, absurd, incredible.” 

The unsuccessful beauties returned to their 
homes feeling the pain of the wound ; and some 


62 


of them firmly resolved to mend their ways, 
recalling the fact that on more than one occa- 
sion they had plunged the dagger of slander 
into the back of a friend while imprinting the 
kiss of friendship upon her lips. 



63 



The Force of Instinct 

GYPT is, in turn, a land of dust, a 
sea of fresh water and a garden of 
flowers. Such is the statement of 
Amru, the Arab. 

Well, then, the story that I am 
about to relate to you happened in that mys- 
terious region where the waters of the Nile 



64 


bathe the roots of the palms and sycamores 
that stand, like gentle sentinels, upon its banks. 

Pharaoh was dying! Dying without leav- 
ing a successor! The suffering monarch had 
been left in almost absolute solitude. His 
servants and attendants had all abandoned 
him fearing they might contract the illness 
that was killing the illustrious descendant of 
Sesostris. Near the couch of the Egyptian 
king there remained but one cat, whose coat 
bright and glossy was tawny like the hide of 
a lion, and whose moustache was long and 
bristling, like that of a Prussian grenadier. 
Tears were streaming copiously from the 
phosphorescent eyes of the animal. Soft and 
tenderly it meowed, its gentle cries resembling 
the sobs of a human being. 

The king, in the last mutterings of the 
agonies of death, found sufficient strength to 
utter these words: 

‘T declare thee to be my heir!” 

Inspired by the imps of ambition, the head 
of the cat was turned by the declaration just 
made by its lord and master. It recalled that 
in the most ancient times, the Egyptians 
adored cats, and it now hoped to restore the 
power which was once enjoyed by those blood- 
thirsty quadrupeds. 

The king had hardly drawn his last breath 


5 


65 


when the cat placed upon its own head the 
crown that had been bequeathed to it by the 
deceased monarch. It folded the mantle of 
Pharaoh around its body and grasped the 
scepter, the symbol of regal authority. Forth 
it sallied from the chamber of the dead, and 
upon beholding it all the people shouted: 

“The king is dead! Long live the king!” 

No one had suspected that such an elegant 
personage was a mere cat, for the animal had 
hidden its long tail so that it could not be seen 
in the monarch’s cloak. 

They carried it upon a litter of solid gold, 
studded with diamonds. The most illustrious 
priests and noblest warriors disputed the honor 
of bearing the new king upon their shoulders. 

In honor of the new monarch, the poets sang 
the most exquisite verses and the fawning 
courtiers showered their flatteries upon his 
majesty, exaggerating his high qualities. In 
Upper, Middle and Lower Egypt, the fellahs 
abandoned themselves to the most unre- 
strained festivities. The waves of the sacred 
Nile seemed to murmur tributes in praise of 
the heir to the kingdom. 

In the desert, the winds, with mysterious 
whispers, seemed to say: He is handsome! 
He is graceful ! He is gentle ! 

The consecration of his majesty took place 


66 


in ancient Thebes. In a large hall, surrounded 
by columns and sphynxes, they erected a 
throne. The entire city attended the cere- 
mony. The fortunate cat, displaying the in- 
signia of royalty in an ostentatious manner, 
appeared upon the radiant throne which was 
ornamented with many bas-reliefs. His 
proud, bristling whiskers gave him the appear- 
ance of a dreadful warrior. 

‘‘He will be a great conqueror, like Sesostris, 
and we shall have a revival of the heroic age,” 
said an old soldier, the guardian of the royal 
treasury. 

Priests, military chiefs, superintendents of 
the palace, treasurers, librarians, equerries, 
keepers of the granaries, and the humble mem- 
bers of the degraded castes, — all rendered 
homage to their new monarch. 

The reserve and circumspection maintained 
by the cat combined to deceive the assembled 
multitude. 

But it happened that while they were in the 
very midst of the solemn ceremony of con- 
secrating the sovereign, a little mouse ap- 
peared upon a truncated pyramid standing 
near the royal dais. When the monarch spied 
the mouse, he flung away his mantle, crown 
and sceptre, and making a great spring ran 
after the little rodent. 


67 


The Egyptians, filled with wrath and over- 
whelmed with shame, realized the hoax of 
which they had been the victims, and there- 
after they persecuted the audacious impostor. 

There are in this world many people who, 
like that cat, conceal their vice and weakness 
beneath a cloak of virtue. The slightest pro- 
vocation, however, is sufficient to cause them 
to doff that cloak of hypocrisy and expose to 
the world all their faults and defects. 



68 



M ot long ago several girl-friends 
were discussing the eternal subject 
of marriage. The topic of their 
conversation was : What procedure 
produces the best results in the 
way of inducing the male species to enter into 
the sacred bond? Various opinions were ex- 
pressed by those who formed that chatting 
group. 


69 


The mistress of the house, who was a very 
handsome lady, was the only person present 
who remained silent, buried apparently in deep 
thought. 

“What do you say?” This question was put 
to her by some of the other girls. 

The lady hesitated a moment, and rising 
from her chair she searched her writing desk, 
and drew forth two letters which were care- 
fully folded and preserved. 

“Read these two letters,” she said. “I once 
sought advice upon the very subject which you 
are now discussing.” 

One of the party read aloud the two mis- 
sives, which ran as follows: 

“Dear Grandfather: 

“It is my desire to open my heart to you. The 
plain and simple truth will find expression in these 
lines. My cheeks begin to flush and I am almost at 
the point of abandoning the pen; but yet I want to 
inform you of the uncertainties by which my spirit 
is beclouded. 

“I appeal to your experience and affection. I re- 
quire your advice and, therefore, my confession will 
be sincere. 

“Like all girls of my age, I have desired and am still 
anxious to marry. 

“I understand that in the present day it is necessary 
to resort to the most skilful methods in order to secure 
a husband. Formerly, the greatest allurement which 
women offered for this purpose was to show that they 
lived a simple life, dowered with truth and candor. 
The atmosphere of purity which our grandmothers 
irradiated was quite sufficient to cause the men of 

70 


their period to fall into the inextricable net of the 
desired sacrament. Blessed Arcadian days! 

“Modesty, chastity, seriousness were requisite in 
order to crown the matrimonial adventure with the 
garland of success. 

“But now, all this is changed. To obtain prefer- 
ence and compel admiration, that is to say, in order 
to attract the attention of the beaux, it is absolutely 
necessary to have recourse to other devices. 

“For this reason I abandoned my secluded, circum- 
spect mode of life. 

“In ancient times, the Indians preferred idols which 
were prominently located upon high pedestals and 
made conspicuous with flaring colors. Hence, I 
reasoned that if I would have adorers, I must appear 
in public assemblies, in the theatres, at balls and be 
seen on the promenades. In this manner I could dis- 
play my youth and beauty. 

‘T conquered my natural timidity, attracted by the 
charms of social life. I investigated the secrets of 
fashion and by studying the mysteries of the gowns 
and toilettes of stylish women, I acquired all of the 
soft graces of refined Parisian coquetry. I endeavored 
to enhance my beauty by appealing to art, and I 
transformed my pale face by the employment of cer- 
tain articles upon my dressing table. I have spent 
hours in arranging my hair. I have curled my tresses 
into the form of capricious waves and permitted some 
ringlets to rest lightly upon my brow, rendering all 
my girl-friends furious with envy. The charms of 
my superb bust were concealed and yet revealed by 
light, gauzy, diaphanous laces, and upon more than 
one occasion I have observed the agitation which 
some men experienced in my presence. 

“I have attracted attention at large parties that 
were thronged with beauties. The most elegant 
bachelors have disputed the honor of showering upon 
me their attentions and flatteries. 

“In my intercourse with others, I have relinquished 
plain simple converse and have seasoned my speech 

71 


with ingenious expressions, frequently employing 
equivocal terms which have been the delight of my 
male companions. 

‘‘The coquetry and caprice of my movements, to- 
gether with a certain freedom with which I have in- 
vested my language, have awakened unusual enthusi- 
asm among the men. They have sought me out, and in 
contests of gallantry they have been my slaves. 

“Eulogy, admiration, praise — all these things, like 
incense, have they offered to me. 

“And yet, notwithstanding triumph such as this, 
no man has offered me his hand. 

“I hold the scepter for distinction and style, but 
the probability of attaining my ardent desire to secure 
a husband, seems to be vanishing . . . ! 

“In the midst of these short-lived flirtations, I ex- 
perience a sensation of infinite sadness. 

“I have deformed my soul in making it intimate 
with the frivolous and artificial life of society, and, 
nevertheless, I have been unable to gratify my aspira- 
tion toward marriage. 

“I rely upon your affection, my dear grandfather, 
and I pray for your advice. Kindly resolve my doubts. 
Why do men worship my beauty in the soft, gentle 
light of large drawing-rooms, and why does not one 
of them offer me his hand in marriage ?“ 

The Other letter contained simply these 
words: 

“My dear child: 

“Your letter has touched me deeply. An observer 
of contemporary society has written the following 
words, which I wish you to impress upon your heart : 

“ ‘For men, even for those of least intelligence, there 
are two kinds of young women, each class perfectly 
well-defined: those to whom a man offers his arm; 
and the one whose hand he craves.* ** 

When the reading of the letters was finished, 
the hum of female conversation was resumed. 


72 


And one young woman, sweet and soft as the 
dawn, repeated with more or less emphasis: 
. . . ‘‘Those to whom a man offers his arm, 
and the one whose hand he craves.” 



73 




For Just a Few Feathers 

N a very few days religion was to 
sanctify the sweet and tender bond 
by which the hearts of John and 
Gabriela were already bound to- 
gether. 

The intended bridegroom was a young man 
of irreproachable conduct, severe and exact in 



74 


the fulfilment of his duties. Many people, if 
they criticised him at all, would do so because 
he was so exceedingly correct. It was his be- 
lief that virtue did not consist merely in the 
performance of one good action, but rather in 
the exercise of an all-pervading system of con- 
duct, at once harmonious and coherent, that is 
to say, he believed that all of his actions should 
be beautiful from the ethical point of view. 

These principles he had imbibed from his 
mother’s teachings, and his conscience, illum- 
inated by sincerity and purity, cultivated the 
most delicate fantasies. 

Youth and beauty were gleaming in the per- 
sonality of Gabriela, and her physical graces 
were reinforced and accentuated by the mani- 
festations of her acute and roguish intelligence. 

She and John loved each other deeply and 
they passed their days together in the sweet 
and blissful intimacy of a happily engaged 
young couple, impatiently awaiting the 
moment when they should receive the nuptial 
benediction. 

While they were occupied in building their 
castles in the air and giving free scope to their 
imagination, two canaries in a cage with gilded 
wires poured forth their silvery lay, and the 
sweet trills and quavers of the birds vibrated 
harmoniously in the spacious parlor, blending 


75 


with the soft-echoing notes of that eternal song 
which was passing through the minds and 
hearts of the happy couple. 

One day John stood on the threshold of the 
parlor, where he remained unobserved con- 
templating his betrothed, whose back was 
turned towards him, as she was, at that mo- 
ment, amusing herself with the canaries. With 
a scissors she was cutting the feathers off one 
of the little birds; and, like a madcap, she was 
laughing immoderately at the ridiculous ap- 
pearance presented by the poor little, unfeath- 
ered bird. The silken down of its golden wings 
was floating upon the air in the parlor and the 
unfortunate canary, feeling the cold, retired 
to the bottom of the cage where it lay trem- 
bling, troubled and frightened by the unusual 
cruelty of its mistress. 

Gabriela, John’s intended bride, seemed to 
be enjoying herself to the utmost, and so ab- 
sorbed was she in the execution of the dread- 
ful torture upon the bird, that she did not at 
all notice the presence of her promised hus- 
band. The latter, shaken by an inexplicable 
emotion, was about to speak; but by an effort 
of will, and without making the least noise, 
pale of visage and with death in his heart, he 
left the house. Pondering a thousand thoughts 
he wandered into the streets, firmly deter- 


76 


mined never to return to that house again, for 
he realized that a woman who could be so un- 
feeling could never be his companion. 

The matrimonial rupture was afterwards 
discussed in animated gossip by the women 
of the city: some criticised the childish char- 
acter of John; others said he was a crank, full 
of ridiculous and overwrought sentimental- 
ities. 

But deep down in his heart, John heard a 
voice, pure and clear of tone, saying to him: 

“Thou hast done well ! Morality is absolute 
and imperative. Anyone who finds pleasure in 
giving pain to beings that were created by God 
for the embellishment of Nature, gives evi- 
dence of hardness and cruelty of heart.” 

Always remember this example, Carmen- 
cita ! Our heroine lost a handsome and gentle 
husband, and she became a wall-flower and 
later an old maid. 

Many men regard tender and delicate senti- 
ments in the heart of a woman as gifts of in- 
expressible value. These sentiments are mys- 
terious mental forces, which become more and 
more disciplined and refined according as a 
woman discharges faithfully all of the duties 
of her position in life. The woman that begins 
by amusing herself with the sufferings of a de- 
fenceless bird, becomes spiritually deformed by 


77 


degrees and in the end her soul finds no enjoy- 
ment save in witnessing the misfortunes and 
contemplating the miseries of human beings. 



78 



The Hiding Place of the 
Infant God 

UT, will the infant-God really come 
and bring me a lot of toys?” 



A little girl, fresh as the roses 
and sweet as the dawn, thus inter- 
rogated her mother. 

“Yes, Gloria,” replied the mother, “He will 
come on the night of the 24th.” 


79 


‘‘I dreamt,” said the little girl, ‘‘that the In- 
fant Jesus was coming down from the blue 
spheres, and that He had slipped out from 
heaven through an opening in the sky; that 
He was attended by seraphs and that angels 
were helping Him to carry heavy loads of 
Christmas toys. I saw Him flying through in- 
finite space, leading an army of cherubs, all 
suffused with the golden light of a rosy dawn. 

“They gamboled among the Pleiades, and 
then had the fun of floating through the Milky 
Way, that river of light, so white and so dif- 
fuse. 

“When twelve o’clock struck, the Infant 
Jesus came down to my home. He carried a 
net-bag woven of golden thread and filled with 
dolls, clowns, Punch and Judy’s, acrobats, lit- 
tle cars and other beautiful presents. I saw 
His smiling face, and His eyes clear and calm 
surrounded by long, curling lashes. 

“He came on tiptoe to my pillow, and when 
He had placed about a thousand toys all around 
me, I saw the sweetest of smiles shining glori- 
ous upon His rosy lips. 

“It seemed as if He said to me in gentle 
whispers: 

“‘Gloria! Gloria! Do not sleep, for this is 
Christmas Eve!’ ” 

Thus the darling little girl communicated 


80 


her poetic dreams to her mother. Then with 
her small hand under her chin she remained 
for a long time contemplating the starry 
heavens; and she fancied that she beheld the 
infantile and placid little face of the Divine 
Child revealed to her in the midst of tranquil 
splendors. 

“Tell me something about Him,” she said to 
her mother. 

“Well,” said the latter, “in a small village 
called Bethlehem the child was born. As He 
was poor among the lowly. His bed was the 
straw of a manger. 

“A celestial brilliance illumined the world 
while soft and perfumed zephyrs issued from 
His mysterious crib. Those athirst for love, 
fraternity and peace felt their hearts palpi- 
tate with a sense of ecstatic joy. 

“A wave of melodious harmony was borne 
upon the air, and floating to the uttermost cor- 
ners of the earth its musical echoes seemed to 
say: ‘The Promised One, the Messiah, has 
come.’ 

“From their humble and rustic homes, nest- 
ling amid the green depths of the vineyards 
and orchards of Judea, the shepherds and 
others who were pure and clean of heart came 
in search of the prophesied One. 

“They adored Him, and presented offerings 


6 


81 


to Him of sheep white as snow, and of rich 
cakes of wax and honey. 

“Then they returned announcing the good 
tidings. 

“And the pure notes of a hymn expressive 
of the aspirations of the lowly resounded 
throughout Canaan, the Land of Promise. 

“ ‘Welcome! Welcome!' was their constant 
cry. 

“And the old Israelite, Simeon, who had 
passed his entire life in eager hope, sustained 
by his anxiety to behold the fulfillment of the 
prophecy, awoke from his sleep, his bent body 
quivering with agitation, and he shouted: 

“ ‘Dinah, my daughter ! He is come ! My 
heart so tells me.' 

“And to the music of the zither, the old, old 
man, whose beard was white as the snow upon 
the mountain, danced and laughed and joined 
in the concert of universal happiness. 

“ ‘Glory to God in the Highest and on Earth 
Peace, Good Will toward men!' That joyous 
refrain, pregnant with harmony, was uttered 
by a voice that issued from the sublimities of 
heaven. 

“On the shifting sands of the arid and silent 
desert, Gaspar, Melchor and Balthasar came 
together, impelled by the same identical, holy 
inspiration. They crossed the desert, which 


82 


they traversed seated upon three white camels. 
And the sharp and sonorous tinkle of the gold 
and silver bells that were upon the camels of 
the wise men filled the sad and desolate desert 
with musical notes of sweet and crystalline 
melody. 

“The regal travelers entered Jerusalem, and 
turning away from that city, they inquired of 
all whom they met: 

“ ‘Where is the Saviour?’ 

“While they were upon the placid, flower- 
laden plain of Rephaim they descried afar in 
the mysterious reaches of the horizon, the won- 
derful, glittering star by whose beams they 
were guided. The splendor of that extra- 
ordinary and beautiful star, which shone with 
intense radiance in the limitless heights of the 
sky, appeared to concentrate all of its rays 
upon the gate of Bethlehem. 

“The Virgin of Nazareth, and Joseph the 
carpenter, showed them the Infant Jesus. They 
saw Him reposing upon the straw in the man- 
ger, His brow gently fanned by the mildest of 
zephyrs. 

“And the wise men, in the fullness of their 
joy, adored the infant Saviour. Melchor of- 
fered Him gold, because the Child was a king. 
Caspar presented incense, because the Child 


83 


was God. Balthasar offered myrrh as a sym- 
bol of expiation.” 

Gloria had listened attentively to the beauti- 
ful legend as narrated by her mother. A thou- 
sand thoughts were fluttering like birds in her 
infantile mind. 

At last she exclaimed: 

‘‘Can I see or hear the Infant Jesus on the 
night of December 24th? 

In order to calm the agitation of the little 
one, the mother answered: 

“Yes; on that night you shall see Him.” 

Restless and watchful, like a sentinel on 
duty, Gloria awaited twelve o’clock on the 
night of the 24th. 

How she struggled against sleep! At last 
overcome by fatigue she sank into a profound 
slumber. 

The chiming of the bells with their sonorous 
music, announced the arrival of the Messiah. 

The mother, taking every precaution, began 
the task of placing various toys around Gloria’s 
bed. Suddenly the child opened her eyes and 
exclaimed: 

“I want to see Him! I want to touch Him!” 

And with her sweet blue eyes, Gloria gazed 
anxiously about her in order to behold the 
Babe of Bethlehem. She felt all over her little 
cot, raising the mattress, the pillow and even 


84 


the sheets; and finally, filled with discourage- 
ment, she began to sob with great tenderness, 
with infinite sadness. 

The mother, pitying the grief of the little 
one, took her to her bosom and caressed her 
as only a mother can. Gloria, inconsolable, 
embraced her mama, and suddenly uttering a 
triumphant cry, she exclaimed: 

“He is here! I have found Him! I have 
found Him!’’ 

At the same time she placed both hands 
over her mother’s heart as if desirous of seizing 
something that was stirring within. Then she 
listened and heard the wondrous and rhyth- 
mic throbbing and, radiant with joy, she cried: 

“He has hidden Himself in this cozy corner. 
I can feel Him here. I heard him saying to me : 
‘Gloria, Gloria, wake up, for to-night is Christ- 
mas Eve.’ ” 

“Yes, my daughter, you are right. It is in 
the heart of a mother that the Infant God is 
hidden and concealed.” 


And the child, fresh as a rose and sweet as 
the dawn, smiled as she enjoyed her celestial 
felicity. 



85 



Sweetly Simple 

HE directress of the Lyceum, a 
charming, elderly lady, small and 
nimble, whose face was wrinkled 
and of the color of dead leaves, was 
toiling earnestly comparing notes 
and striking averages for the purpose of decid- 
ing upon whom she should bestow the Diploma 
of Honor which, in all the splendor of its let- 



86 


ters and artistic, golden arabesques, lay in state 
upon the table, there displaying a certain inher- 
ent glorious brilliancy. 

The girl-students, leaning upon their desks, 
were gazing fixedly upon the Directress 
anxious to hear the name of the girl who, by 
reason of her excellent conduct, was going to 
secure the honors of the triumph hallowed by 
the Young Ladies’ Lyceum. 

The mistress, raising her eyes from the 
record-book, and casting a sweet and caress- 
ing glance upon her pupils said to them : 

“Among you there are many who have ob- 
tained the highest marks in the course of the 
lessons; but in order to award the premium I 
must know which of you has performed some 
beautiful action revealing the delicate senti- 
ments of the female heart.” 

“I have given alms to the poor!” 

“I do not go to the theatre or the parks, be- 
ing devoted to my studies!” 

“I am obedient to my superiors and strictly 
comply with their instructions!” 

“I dislike extravagance and my clothing is 
modest and simple!” 

In this manner the pupils were reciting a 
catalogue of the virtues they were accustomed 
to practice. The teacher seemed to hesitate, 
as if in an uncertain state of mind, manifesting 


87 


no desire to award the palm of triumph to any 
of her scholars. 

She noticed the absence of Magdalena San- 
chez, a joyous, playful little girl, sweet as honey 
and fresh and smiling as the blossoms of a rose- 
bush. 

The schoolmistress was at a loss to under- 
stand why Magdalena was not present on the 
very day designated for the giving of the prize. 

‘Ts there any word from Magdalena San- 
chez?” the teacher asked. 

No one could explain the child’s absence. 

The rain was beating furiously upon the roof 
and against the windows of the Institute, mak- 
ing a vague, muffled, incessant noise. Sheets 
of lightning were flashing in the storm. With 
the dull, indistinct noise of the tempest, cool 
wintry blasts, deliciously saturated with the 
fragrance of the wet earth, invaded the luxuri- 
ous school-room. 

Suddenly Magdalena Sanchez appeared, 
thoroughly saturated by the rain. The pol- 
ished hardwood floor of the school-room 
showed the course she had taken to reach her 
seat, as a small stream of water dripped from 
the child’s clothing as she passed through the 
room. 

Her schoolmates, beholding the mishap that 
had occurred to Magdalena, laughed merrily. 


88 


Even the teacher was obliged to make an ef- 
fort to restrain her own sense of the ludicrous, 
when she saw the girl enter the room in that 
condition. 

“Why are you late?” This question was 
put by the directress in her severest tone. 

“Because. . . . !” 

She could not continue, for speech seemed to 
fail her. 

“Magdalena, explain why you are late,” said 
the teacher again. 

Between sobs and sighs and tears, the child 
began to mumble some words. 

“I left home,” said she, “with my old nurse, 
who always accompanies me when I come to 
the college. The rain came suddenly and un- 
expectedly and we had hardly time to take 
shelter under the arch of Dr. Paulet's house. 
What torrents of rain were falling from the 
heavens! Wrapped in my waterproof-cloak 
and sheltered by a large umbrella carried by 
Jane, we could hardly protect ourselves from 
the deluge. 

“Just then the door of the court-yard under 
whose arch we were resting, was opened, and 
a bad man, Dr. Paulet’s janitor, brutally shoved 
out an unhappy and wretched woman who car- 
ried in her arms a little boy wrapped only in 
soiled rags. The boy was suffering from a 


89 


dreadful fever and he was full of pimples that 
looked like smallpox. 

“ ‘If he gets wet with the rain, he will die,’ 
said the mother as she bent her body over him 
so that the rain might not fall upon her little 
angel.” 

“I could not contain myself,” said Magda- 
lena, “and I spread my waterproof cloak over 
the sick child, loathsome though he was, also 
my wrap, handkerchief and Jane’s mantle, and 
I gave our big umbrella to the mother. Then 
it was that the tempest grew more and more 
furious, and cataracts of water fell from the 
skies, wetting us through to the bones. Never- 
theless, although it was cold and dreadful I 
felt a sense of great joy when I saw the little 
fellow protected from the fury of the storm. 
And the foolish mother laughed and cried, and 
wanted to kiss my hands, believing that I had 
saved her child.” 

When Magdalena ceased speaking, none of 
her schoolmates laughed at her. They all em- 
braced her, and the directress, the spry old lady 
with the wrinkled face of the color of dead 
leaves, followed their example. Full of en- 
thusiasm, addressing Magdalena, she said to 
her: 

“Here is the diploma of honor: it is yours. 
When charity with caressing hand alleviates 


90 


human sufferings upon this earth, God smiles 
with pleasure in His home beyond the skies.” 



91 



Two Candles 

UT this is the age of feminine eman- 
cipation. The liberation of woman 
has become a social necessity. 
Times change and institutions de- 
/Ak velop in their passage through dif- 
ferent stages.” 

This observation was addressed by Andrea 


92 


to her Aunt Ines. The latter stopped the sew- 
ing or embroidery upon which she was work- 
ing with trembling hands and shaking her 
head she denied the assertions of her niece who, 
by the way, had some pretensions to learning 
and interlarded her conversation with pedan- 
tic and bombastic expressions. 

“It is the fact,” continued the young woman, 
“that all of the codes of the world have abol- 
ished the power formerly exercised by the hus- 
band, and the spirit of the age has broken the 
chains by which woman has heretofore been 
enslaved.” 

The good, old lady scratched her forehead 
and, by her manner, evinced the indignation 
that was engendered in her heart by the 
strange theories of her beloved niece. 

“I am not disposed to listen calmly to that 
philosophy, which you have been learning 
somewhere. For my part I can say that in 
the olden times, girls’ heads were not turned 
by evil doctrines. On the contrary woman’s 
best sentiments were then cultivated; and love, 
hope, patience and resignation were the flowers 
that beautified her spirit. Female hearts were 
then illuminated by the flame of sacred ideals, 
while in the midst of earthly pangs and pains 
our souls were disciplined by the blessed fear 
of God. We were inculcated with the idea 


93 


that man’s companion ought to irradiate peace 
and sweetness; that she should soften evil pas- 
sions by exercising gentleness and goodness, 
and that she should never inflict either physi- 
cal or spiritual wounds, but that, on the con- 
trary, she should be ever ready and anxious to 
heal both the one and the other.” 

“But,” said Andrea, “there is, I repeat, evo- 
lution in all things; and we are now moving 
directly towards the equalizing of the sexes and 
the proclaiming of social equality; that is to 
say, the perfect similarity of rights and duties 
of men and women. We women are regain- 
ing possession of our civil and political liber- 
ties, of which we have been deprived by man.” 

“A truce to such nonsense,” said the good, 
old lady, “you talk a great deal but there is no 
substance in your speech; it is all sound and 
little sense. You went to college, it seems, to 
forget the sweet prayer which your mother 
taught you and which you should have prized, 
as a talisman, to console you in the midst of 
the afflictions of life. And what have you ac- 
quired in exchange? Nothing but the tinsel of 
a false education, the semblance of knowledge 
and nothing more. 

“I am going to give you a concrete illustra- 
tion of my thought, so that you may find 
therein a kind of parable against those dia- 


94 


bolical snares and deceptions of unfortunate 
feminism, which are so frequently brought to 
public notice in the present day. 

“Take two candles, exactly alike: light them 
and put them in different and dissimilar places. 

“Place one of them here near the sacred altar 
of the Holy Virgin which you have in your 
room. In that poetic retreat, the more favored 
candle, safely sheltered from the fury of the 
winds, will burn away slowly, meantime illum- 
inating the statue of the Queen of Heaven as 
she listens to the rhythmic cadence of your 
prayers floating upwards to her celestial 
throne. That flame will have a sort of fantas- 
tic glow, and when expiring its last ray shall 
gleam upon the gentle face of the Mother of 
God. 

“The other candle, also lighted, you will 
place in the middle of the street. You will see 
how quickly the wind will consume the mate- 
rial of which that candle is composed, and you 
will also notice that its flame will not illumin- 
ate anything, for the air will maltreat and ex- 
tinguish it in rapid and sterile combustion. 

“In the same way, a girl who, carried away 
by the loose theories of modern feminism, 
wishes to pass her life in the streets and in pub- 
lic places, neglecting the mission of peace and 
consolation, of obedience and submission, with 


95 


which she has been charged by God, will con- 
sume her existence in a useless manner, with- 
out performing her delicate task of dissemin- 
ating bliss and without having practiced the 
aimable virtues of the Christian home.” 

This was the way that good woman spoke 
to her niece, Andrea, as with rugged and trem- 
bling hands she resumed her work of embroid- 
ery. 



96 




The Affected Bluestocking 

RS. PIEDAD, the widow of Za- 
buco, paid large sums of money for 
the education and board of her 
daughter, Amparo, in a certain 
school known as the “Splendor of 
Science.” This school was famous as a young 



7 


97 


ladies* seminary. It was located in a large 
city, the name of which I cannot now recall. 
Amparo, developing her intellect, remained for 
several years in that temple of Minerva. 

What a vast amount of knowledge that 
learned young lady derived from her studies! 
She spent a great deal of time in scientific in- 
vestigation, her thoughts entangled in an 
inextricable net- work of argument; and, in the 
opinion of her teachers, she was competent to 
solve the most abstruse and involved problems. 

Before a select audience she read, in the final 
examination, a profound essay upon the sub- 
ject of ‘‘Secular Neohumanism and the won- 
derful scope of her knowledge aroused so much 
enthusiasm that Dr. Kimbo, who presided at 
the meeting, felicitated her in the name of 
regenerative ideas. 

So that this young lady was an extremely 
self-satisfied personage. 

When she returned to Condega, her native 
city, she was received amid waving palms and 
under triumphal arches. The magnificence of 
the feasts with which the Romans celebrated 
the victory of Marcellus, the Consul, would 
pale into insignificance in comparison with the 
splendor of the reception with which this 
prodigy of Condega was entertained upon her 
return from school. 


98 


Mrs. Piedad, the widow of Zabuco, was, un- 
doubtedly, a very complacent woman, amiable 
as jelly and sweeter than sugar candy. She, 
therefore, experienced the greatest pleasure 
in witnessing the homage rendered to her 
daughter. 

Shortly after the return of Amparo to her 
native town, her mother said to some neigh- 
bors: 

“To tell you the truth, I do not quite under- 
stand the deep philosophy of my college-girl; 
but, nevertheless, I observe that she talks like 
a dictionary, and I believe she would be 
competent to give instruction even to the 
Mameluke of Persia. 

“The children of the present generation are, 
indeed, educated !” 

As the star-beams become pale and dim in 
the brighter effulgence of the moon, so the 
fame of the girls of Condega was eclipsed by 
the charms and beauty of Amparo. 

This pretty blue-stocking was, certainly, all 
the rage ! 

The dandies of the town, smitten by Am- 
paro’s glorious face, invaded her mother’s 
house. With the most refined compliments, 
they offered incense to the goddess; and to 
such a degree were they captivated by her 
radiant beauty, that when she smiled— smiles 


99 


being the coin in which she paid for their 
adulation — these great simpletons imagined 
that she had opened to them the gates of 
Paradise. 

When the first days of enthusiasm had 
passed away, those amorous swains began to 
experience a strange sensation when con- 
versing with the famous senorita, for she 
allowed the stream of her inexhaustible erudi- 
tion to flow incessantly from her lips, inter- 
larding the most trifling conversation with 
exotic, far-fetched expressions. 

One night at the height of an evening party, 
she interrogated her friends on the subject of 
“The Enlightenment of the Barbarians.” On 
another occasion she sought to prove to them 
that the ego could, like the non-ego^ be the sub- 
ject of cognition; and once she even went so 
far as to declare that she would not become the 
wife of any man who was unable to classify 
the kinesthetic sensations. 

“She knows too much!” they exclaimed; and 
they fled, helter-skelter from her presence. 

Her mother, Mrs. Piedad, found no pleasure 
in hearing that cry of “Flee for your lives!” 
“Now,” said she, “a crisis has come in the 
affairs of Amparo’s suitors, and if she persists 
in her affectation, the silly, little fool will be 
left on the shelf.” Mrs. Piedad was really quite 


100 


angry, and her irritation increased when the 
servants gave notice of their intention to leave 
her employment. 

They could not understand the strange 
jargon which their young mistress employed 
when asking for the simplest article. For in- 
stance, if she wanted an orange, she called to 
them, placing emphasis upon her words: 

“Bring me a yellow sphere, a fruit of the 
family Aurantiaceae^ of the genus Citrus^ 
species. Citrus Aurantium.^^ 

The humble housemaids, confused and 
mortified, naturally thought she was poking 
fun at them. 

Within the rough integument that enveloped 
the intellect of Madame Piedad, there were 
certain imperceptible veins of common sense; 
and hence she was induced to make various 
observations to her daughter. 

One day when they were alone, the mother 
said to Amparo: “It is not right for you to 
be wasting your knowledge in the way you do. 
I hear murmurs of criticism. The natural 
simplicity of the people of Condega requires 
that you should curb and restrain the impetu- 
ous anxiety of your learned spirit to display 
its treasures.” 

This and other sensible advice was given by 
the widow Zabuco; but, what a fit of rage took 


101 


possession of the soul of Amparo! Furiously 
she answered her mother: 

“I know well what I am doing; I shall not 
demean myself to the level of the vulgar. My 
spirit communes in the regions of pure art and 
lofty science. If the garb of my beautiful lan- 
guage is a subject of criticism by the gossips 
of Condega, I care not, nor shall I descend 
from the sidereal heights wherein my intellect 
finds delightful recreation.” 

This was the language of the learned maiden 
to her mother; and observing the tone of dis- 
respect adopted by her daughter in addressing 
her, the mother began to doubt the efficacy of 
the education which the famous young ladies’ 
seminary, known as the “Splendor of Science,” 
imparted to its pupils. 

Some days later, Mrs. Piedad desired her 
daughter to sum up all of the monthly instal- 
ments that had been paid for her education 
during six years. The brilliant blue-stocking 
spent a considerable length of time in setting 
down the figures on paper. She added and 
re-added the columns of figures, but was never 
certain that her addition was correct. She 
coughed dubiously several times, and stroked 
her hair with her hand, while her face blushed 
a rosy red. At last she exclaimed: 

“This business of adding up figures is a mat- 


102 


ter of small moment. Frankly, my mind has 
not had much exercise in the prosaic abstrac- 
tion of numbers.” 

“So that,” cried Mrs. Piedad, “you are un- 
able to perform a simple sum in addition! 
You must, at least, know how to sew?” and 
she handed her daughter some articles of 
clothing, with the idea of making a practical 
test of Amparo’s skill in the humble art of 
mending. 

“I could clearly explain to you,” said Am- 
paro, “the derivation of the word ‘sew,’ and 
write a profound treatise upon the history and 
vicissitudes of that word in the sphere of 
linguistics; but I should regard it as beneath 
my dignity to engage in the very vulgar exer- 
cise of the thimble and the needle. You must 
understand, mama, that the heroic people of 
Lacedaemon regarded manual labor as an un- 
worthy occupation. I! to sew! I cannot do 
it. I am a great admirer of the customs and 
institutions of Sparta.” 

This was the finishing stroke that broke the 
heart of Mrs. Piedad, the widow of Zabuco. 
The scales that were blinding her dropped 
from her eyes; and had she not been so lenient 
she would have given this damsel a drubbing 
which the girl would never have forgotten. 
But the good old lady only shed tears as big 


103 


as peas, and she thought with infinite sorrow 
of the money which she had paid to the 
“Splendor of Science,” for the mere smatter- 
ings of education now possessed by her daugh- 
ter who, although pretentious of knowledge, 
was absolutely ignorant. 

How many parents suffer from the same 
kind of misfortune! They expend large sums 
of money in the education and instruction of 
their daughters and at the end of it all, some 
of these girls can do nothing but gabble in jaw- 
breakers, their hearts deformed by the desire 
to make a vain and ostentatious display of idle 
and useless knowledge. 

A girl whose face is wreathed in beauty and 
happiness, will make more conquests than she 
whose head would seem to contain the library 
of Alexandria. 

As the saying is, there is a great difference 
between attracting attention and becoming 
ridiculously conspicuous. 



104 




As You Sow, So Shall You Reap 

IVIL war was raging. The con- 
tending factions were fighting with 
remarkable fury in the streets of 
the city. 

The attacking party was gain- 
ing ground, and in the midst of the dense bat- 
tle-smoke a purple flag was fluttering, riddled 



105 


with bullets. Cannons thundered and the 
sharp rattle of the rifle cracked incessantly 
upon the air. 

The demagogues triumphed and the citi- 
zens fled pursued by their enemies. 

The victors scattered themselves in all di- 
rections, forcibly entering the houses, murder- 
ing men, maltreating children and subjecting 
to innumerable brutalities the women whom 
they encountered in their path. 

It were impossible to describe that horrible 
scene of tears and slaughter. 

Vile passions and the basest appetites were 
unleashed, and there was no one capable of 
putting an end to the condition of anarchy that 
existed. 

One of the groups, led by a ragamuffin of 
strong, coarse build who brandished a long 
sword, invaded the ancient mansion of a 
wealthy and aristocratic gentleman named 
Juan Canto y Lopez. 

The most precious jewel possessed by this 
nobleman fell into the hands of the ruffians, 
for they seized his daughter, Florentina, an 
extremely beautiful and sweet young maiden 
in whom physical perfection and spiritual vir- 
tue were united in exquisite harmony. 

What a mortal pallor overspread her coun- 


106 


tenance when she beheld herself surrounded by 
that brutal gang! 

With what demonstrations of savage joy 
did those ruffians manifest the evil intentions 
which they harbored against the beautiful 
Florentina! 

By vile words and ribald songs they drowned 
the cries of the girl who, although breathless 
and fainting, shouted as loudly as she could 
for assistance. 

When she was about to be borne away a 
prisoner of these abominable men, the captain 
of the band, who up to this time had remained 
behind, entered abruptly and, making some 
passes with his sword, opened a passage 
through the crowd, crying out: 

‘‘Let no one touch her!” 

He came close to the young woman and 
freed her hands and her body from the bonds 
that were lacerating her. 

The ruffians were almost struck dumb on 
beholding the attitude of their herculean chief, 
and a murmur of hostility arose from the 
throng. 

“Let no one move,” exclaimed the captain. 
“This little girl, Florentina Canto, sweetened, 
through her bounties, the last moments of my 
mother’s life. She left her mansion and went 
to the place where my mother lay, offering to 


107 


her the precious balm of consolation. At that 
time I was in prison; but I knew then that my 
poor mother would not die plunged in the 
depths of despair, because in the midst of her 
sufferings she had this gentle and pious child 
by her side. She was the angel that kindled 
the spark of hope in that hovel of misfortune.” 

The chief of the band narrated the circum- 
stances to his men, and although they were 
incorrigible criminals and hardened by vice, 
their hearts were touched with an indefinable 
sentiment of reverence. 

Respectfully they bowed before that living 
image of virtue; and they withdrew from the 
baronial mansion without doing the least dam- 
age. On the contrary, they were willing to 
risk their own lives on behalf of the young 
girl who thus employed the celestial gifts of 
her radiant youth in beneficent works of char- 
ity and tenderness. 



108 



Maximus Blockhead 

AXIMUS BLOCKHEAD had never 
Studied the works of Spencer and 
was, therefore, ignorant of the fact 
that in the ethics written by that 
philosopher, connections whose 
origin is rooted in self-interest, are condemned. 
Blockhead’s meagre intelligence had never 



109 


sought to unravel the intricate problems of in- 
dividuality and of reproduction; but, neverthe- 
less, his soul being, as it was, perverted by his 
environment and by those somewhat realistic 
modern principles that control the evolution of 
present progress, the idea took root in his 
brain that in any matrimonial adventure he 
must find a woman “with money.” 

“Matrimony is slavery;” 

“Money sweetens matrimony,” 

“Therefore, I must marry money.” 

Such was the deductive reasoning of Block- 
head. Having reached that felicitous conclu- 
sion, he blessed Aristotle for his ingenious in- 
vention of the syllogism by which the truth 
might be so neatly and methodically elimin- 
ated. 

How Blockhead laughed when he heard his 
companions speak of their loves, their illusions 
and their fantasies! 

He was wont to say that malignant Fate 
simply practiced cunning and guileful tricks 
to entangle the unwary in the snares of matri- 
mony. The victims, in his estimation, carried 
cobwebs over their eyes, these cobwebs having 
been placed there by Fate for the purpose of 
blinding them completely. 

His colleagues in the law school at which he 
was a student always maintained the contrary 


110 


argument. On such occasions you should hear 
the brilliant observations that dropped from 
the lips of Maximus. 

“When hunger comes in at the door, love 
flies out of the window,” he said, “and I shall 
never plunge into the abyss of matrimony ex- 
cept in company with a girl who is dowered 
with pecuniary qualities. She must have some- 
thing more than the fleeting charms of youth 
and a heritage of evanescent beauty.” 

He was controverted in argument by his 
companions, but he persisted, nevertheless, in 
unfolding the thread of his discourse without 
paying the smallest attention to the reasoning 
presented by his colleagues. 

“The mysterious footsteps of Time,” re- 
peated Blockhead, “have changed the funda- 
mental principles of matrimony. Formerly, 
in olden times, marriage was a sacrament, and 
religion placed its seal upon the ideal bond that 
united two souls; but today marriage is a bilat- 
eral contract regulated by law. According to 
my view, it is almost a contract of purchase 
and sale; and so far as I am personally con- 
cerned I would not be willing that my intended 
wife should bring to me only cloysome charms 
which, like smoke, very quickly disappear upon 
the air. My idea is that she must bring me 


111 


something more real, something more substan- 
tial than mere beauty.” 

His companions became irritated at the 
absurd propositions of Blockhead, but he 
placed no bridle upon his inexhaustible loqua- 
city. He was forever, and everywhere, argu- 
ing in favor of his strange theories. 

One of the follies of Maximus Blockhead was 
the lottery. At the beginning of every month 
he purchased a share. Among his foolish cap- 
rices was a belief that his destiny lay in either 
of these two distinct propositions: marr/ag'^ 
with a rich woman^ or the winning of a 
large prize in the lottery. 

As was his custom, he went on a certain 
Monday to the office where payment was made 
to the holders of the winning numbers. He 
was handed the last list, and with great dis- 
turbance of spirit he saw that he was not, as 
yet, favored by fortune. 

Seated in an arm-chair, Maximus read and 
re-read the list of lucky numbers. Disap- 
pointed, he abandoned the list and fixed his 
gaze upon a woman who was in conversation 
at that time with the chief of the office. 

“The first prize,” said the employee. 

“Yes, sir; I am entitled to $20,000,” replied 
this fortunate daughter of Eve. 

Thereupon the sum was immediately paid 
112 


to her in bank-bills and the happy woman 
placed her signature “Maria Quintina,” at the 
foot of the receipt. 

“Maria Quintina!” exclaimed the chief, “you 
have also won other prizes ! I believe I remem- 
ber. . . 

“Yes, in December of last year and May of 
this year,” answered the woman. 

“The three drawings, then, have yielded you 
fifty thousand dollars!” 

Maximus, in wonder and envy, listened to 
that conversation. He closely observed the 
lucky woman as she counted and gathered up 
the money. 

Her face was pockmarked. Her nose was 
so curved that it seemed desirous of kissing 
her lips. Her eyes presented an irreconcilable 
divergence, for when she looked in any direc- 
tion the glance of one eye seemed to go to- 
wards the left, while that of the other shot 
wildly to the right. 

Blockhead followed the fortunate Maria, and 
that very evening he knew where she lived. 

She dwelt alone in the garret of a distant inn ; 
and there Blockhead went in search of the 
Golden Fleece. 

The Greeks spent more years in the conquest 
of Troy than were required by Maximus Block- 
head to obtain the withered hand of Maria 


s 


113 


Quintina. Maria who had imagined that she 
would go to her grave in the trappings of a 
vestal virgin, was floating in an atmosphere 
of supreme bliss on account of the ardent trans- 
ports of Maximus. Like Caesar, he came, he 
saw and he . . . married ! 

Some time later, in one of the rapturous 
hours of the honeymoon. Blockhead adroitly 
turned the conversation to the subject of 
money. 

“In the conjugal partnership, the man should 
have the direction of money matters. Man's 
duty in the sacred institution of matrimony is 
to protect the wife; her duties are those of love 
and obedience.” 

“I quite agree with you,” replied the hor- 
rible spouse. 

“Therefore, Maria, I must say to you that 
the money you are retaining should be em- 
ployed in some lucrative business. We must 
make it circulate, so that it may return to us 
with handsome profits.” 

“But where do you imagine I am holding 
money?” she exclaimed. 

“Why, the fifty thousand dollars from the 
lottery,” said Blockhead, trembling with 
anger. 

“I must explain that matter to you,” said 
Maria. “The happy, fortunate woman in that 


114 


case was my old nurse, Dona Paca Cuchupeta. 
In three drawings she took those prizes; but 
she had several creditors and, fearing that if 
the news of her good fortune became public, 
her creditors might place an attachment upon 
the money, she commissioned me to collect it 
for her. That was all.” 

After making this explanation, Maria Quin- 
tina smiled, revealing her horrible, toothless 
gums. 

The earth seemed to go from under the feet 
of Maximus. He felt a sensation of death 
when he reflected that a heavy, hard and cold 
chain bound him to that ugly dame; for, in- 
deed, she was ugly in the fullest sense of the 
word. 

When Blockhead realized the irremediable 
calamity which he had drawn upon himself, he, 
perhaps, also appreciated the unquestionable 
truth that Love alone, radiant and immortal, 
can be relied upon as forming the true founda- 
tion of human happiness. 



115 



The Gold-Laden Donkeys 

little donkey which Calazan 
owned and kept on his farm, en- 
joyed a happy existence. The little 
^ l\iT» useful to carry the fruit 

ijlk. which Calazan gathered in his 
orchard, and in return for that small and in- 
significant service, abundant thought was be- 


ne 


stowed upon the animal. Its life, mainly 
devoted to asinine diversions, was passed with- 
out either fatigue or real work, and it enjoyed 
the sport of launching upon the air loud bray- 
ings which resounded over the fields, shaking 
the branches of the trees. 

On a certain day, the donkey, as usual, was 
brought to the city carrying some nets full of 
fruit, and while its master was engaged sell- 
ing the melons, and peaches and oranges, the 
donkey ate its allowance of hay, awaiting with 
philosophic calm the return to its accustomed 
haunts. 

Suddenly the animal in question noticed that 
the market people showed that they were in 
an unusual state of excitement, for they all 
were in a group trying to see what was going 
on in the street. Our little donkey lifted its 
head above the heads of the men and women 
and saw a collection of asses passing, with 
Olympian pride, along the wide avenue, sport- 
ing metallic saddles and magnificent bridles. 
These donkeys were employed in carrying the 
gold that was extracted from a rich mine situ- 
ated near the city. Their trappings were orna- 
mented with jingling bells, which produced 
musical sounds as they passed along the high- 
way. They walked as if proud of their work. 


117 


and vain of the wonder and admiration of the 
people. 

The donkey owned by Juan Calazan experi- 
enced the greatest joy on recognizing its 
brother-asses, and as a salutation to them, it 
brayed loudly enough to shake the roofs of 
the houses. The bedizened donkeys, main- 
taining the composure of well-bred animals, 
paid not the smallest attention to the noisy 
salutation of the Calazan ass, and they trudged 
along, proud and tranquil, while the assembled 
multitude, hissing and shouting, ridiculed the 
rustic animal. 

Pensive, refractory and incurably sullen, 
Calazan’s donkey returned to the farm. 

Neither an abundant supply of hay nor the 
caresses of its master were successful as ex- 
pedients to dissipate its sadness. Observant 
eyes could clearly perceive the unfortunate 
change which had been produced in the donkey 
by its fit of the blues. 

We are unable to suggest what sort of dia- 
bolical art was resorted to by Juan, but the fact 
is that he succeeded in conversing with the ass. 

“Donkey mine,” said Calazan, “open your 
heart to me and confide in me. Tell me the 
trouble that afflicts you.” 

“Since I have seen how the carrier-asses 
went through the city, proud and haughty of 


118 


mien, and how they were saluted enthusiastic- 
ally by the crowd, the wicked sentiment of 
envy has poisoned my existence. My heart is 
inflamed with the desire to obtain a place 
among those aristocratic asses.” 

Feeling quite provoked, Juan Calazan, took 
the animal by the bridle and led it to the stable 
in which the numerous asses belonging to the 
mine were housed together in very limited 
space. After speaking a few words with the 
guardian, the gate was opened and Juan drove 
his donkey into the enclosure. 

On returning to his homestead, Juan’s sur- 
prise was great indeed when he beheld his don- 
key standing at the door. 

“I crave your pardon, my master,” said the 
ass, “what I saw there has filled me with hor- 
ror. Those donkeys that carry the gold and 
that went through the streets of the city so 
proudly, are full of sores about their ears and 
on their backs. The atmosphere of that stable 
is infected, and I am convinced of the 
wretchedness and misfortune of those miser- 
able donkeys. 

‘T have reached home by paths seldom tra- 
versed, and I am cured forever of the sin of 
envy with which my heart was possessed. 
And here I am; and no one can now entice me 
from this tranquil farm.” 


119 


With right good will Juan Calazan pardoned 
his donkey, and while the animal was frisking 
gaily in the field, the farmer reflected upon the 
vain display affected by many men. 

‘‘We think,” he cogitated, “that they are at 
the very height of happiness whenever they 
pose upon the pedestal of their millions. They 
are, however, nothing but poor slaves, drag- 
ging along chains of gold; they are suffering 
from pestilential sores, victims of unhealthy 
passions and of insatiable avarice. In truth, 
they are veritable donkeys overburdened with 
gold.” 



120 



Wind in the Head 

N the days of Maricastana, there 
was a famous doctor who made 
wonderful cures. He not only 
cured persons who suffered from 
physical pain; but he was also able 
by the exercise of some scientific procedure to 



121 




cure those suffering from imperfections of the 
spirit. 

He was an adept in physics. He could treat 
heat and electricity according to his fancy, 
producing true and surprising wonders by 
means of these agents. 

He frequently declared that pleasure and 
pain, and other mental conditions were simply 
aspects of movement. Absorbed in his experi- 
ments, he came to believe absolutely in the 
theory of the influence of physical force upon 
moral phenomena. 

His fame extended over the entire earth. 

Innumerable patients visited his office. 

Proud and haughty ladies who boasted high 
descent, and who once imagined that illus- 
trious ancestry was shown by the exhibition 
of a sullen, obstinate frown, were converted 
by this disciple of Aesculapius into sweet, 
charming ladies endowed with all pleasing and 
delicate manners. When these ladies had for- 
saken their former churlish demeanor, which 
was due solely to improper education, they 
were filled with mirth and pleasantry; and 
they offered thanks to heaven, for at last they 
understood that wealth and high lineage ought 
to be linked with the most exquisite affability. 

Girls who were dying of love, driven to 
despair because their affection was unrequited. 


122 


also presented themselves for treatment by 
this wonderful physician, and when they left 
his presence they were free from all trace of 
their former vexatious passions. 

Children, whose souls were disfigured by the 
ugly sin of ingratitude, were conducted by 
their parents to this great doctor, and by his 
magical methods he metamorphosed those 
children into models of virtue and examples of 
absolute perfection. 

Husbands, whose conduct was not as reg- 
ular as it should have been, were transformed 
into attentive lovers of their wives; and these 
men no longer retained in their hearts any 
other sentiment save that beauteous one of 
licit love to which their wives were entitled. 

Wayward, hot-tempered persons were 
changed by him into gentle characters, sweeter 
than honey. 

He radically cured all vices, whether they 
were of the intellect, sensibility or the will. 
Disloyal persons, murderers, tyrants, liber- 
tines, liars, the proud and haughty, in fact all 
those who were ill of soul returned from his 
sanatorium, sweet, godly and benevolent, and 
in a condition to discharge in a proper manner 
the harmonious functions of moral life. 

One day a celebrated lady appeared at the 
office of the doctor. 


123 


The physician fixed his eyes upon the 
strange figure of the great lady who had 
presented herself at his clinic, and he said to 
her: 

“In what can I serve you, Madam?” 

“I wish you would give me a very thorough 
examination, doctor. I am ill, quite ill.” 

“But, what are the symptoms of your 
malady?” 

“It is a rare, incredible disease. Upon every 
occasion that I attend a great dance — for it is 
my custom not to miss any social event — the 
lights of the candelabra go out and the gath- 
ering is plunged in darkness. Whenever I go 
to the parks, furious gusts of wind begin to 
blow almost as soon as I appear. When at 
home, if I open a book to relieve the tedium of 
the long night, the same singular thing occurs, 
for the lights disappear, becoming completely 
extinguished. I appeal to your marvelous 
science, doctor; what disease can this be?” 

“By what mental habits is your life regu- 
lated?” replied this son of Galen. 

“My life has been passed in a succession of 
balls, parties, dances and constant amusement. 
I have experienced the most ineffable sen- 
sations when men have paid homage to my 
beauty. A hat of the latest style has always 
been one of my imperious necessities, more 


124 


urgent and far more sacred than the duties 
that awaited me at home.” 

“Have you never felt,” observed the doc- 
tor, “any desire to relinquish that sort of life?” 

“What, renounce balls! Abandon the the- 
atre! Forsake large parties! Never, never!” 

“Then there is no cure for your disease.” 

“Oh, heavens! And what is this disease 
which oppresses and suffocates me?” 

“Your head is full of wind which puts out 
the lights. Women who suffer from that very 
serious malady are irremediably lost. And the 
worst of it all is that this wind, however 
zephyr-like it may be, is liable to develop into 
terrible and destructive tempests when these 
women are at home.” 

Oh, wind in the head is a dreadful disease! 



125 




Living By the Quill 

( N some way or another the idea en- 
tered one of the empty chambers 
of Claudia’s brain that she had 
been born into this world for the 
purpose of writing articles for the 
magazines. Possessed of this idea she neg- 
lected her domestic duties and spent her days 



126 


and part of her nights deeply engaged in the 
reading of books and pamphlets. 

Her mother, who was an admirable lady, en- 
deavored to turn the girl from this path, and 
by wise observations to moderate the preten- 
sions to great learning which were manifested 
by her daughter. 

It was, however, impossible to restrain 
Claudia and, inspired by the fixed idea which 
she entertained that her work was worthy of 
publication, she unfortunately lost her time in 
constant literary labor. She composed verses 
which she sent to the reviews and newspapers, 
and she had a real leaning towards writers, 
even towards those who were addle-brained 
and pretentious. 

The anger of Claudia’s mother was visible 
in the good woman’s countenance, and she 
sometimes gave vent to her irritation in severe 
reprimands addressed to her daughter; but the 
latter, reclining upon a couch, paid no atten- 
tion to her mother. Claudia was quite content 
when surrounded by manuscripts, books, 
magazines and newspapers. 

In imitation of Andre Chenier, she would 
touch her forehead, saying: 

“Mama, there is something here. I am pre- 
destined to live by the quill. I have conceived 
the project of establishing a Woman’s Review, 


127 


which will advocate the rights of woman and 
secure to her the restoration of those of which 
man has deprived her.” 

“Claudia! Claudia! you silly child! You 
had better cultivate your heart and your mind 
within the sphere of home and devote your 
energies to the exercise of domestic, simple 
and pure virtues. Woman’s mission on earth 
is one of love and peace, and when we inspire 
faith and hope, awakening in others the ideal 
of immortal life, we are doing something 
greater than that which is achieved by those 
women who, like men in petticoats, march 
through the streets and the squares declaiming 
in favor of so-called woman’s rights, which 
both nature and modesty forbid us to exercise.” 

The mother’s talk was of no avail. These 
reflections made no impression upon the mind 
of Claudia, who persisted in the enterprise of 
bringing to light her projected periodical. 

She had the misfortune to witness her 
mother’s death; and after the bitter days of 
mourning were passed she reverted to her 
eternal mania for journalism. She came into 
possession of her modest inheritance and de- 
voted the whole of it to the business by which 
her spirit was so intensely agitated. 

The “Review” was issued. It was attrac- 
tively printed, and the infatuated girl devoted 


128 


herself to her literary work, convinced that it 
was her destiny to live by the quill. 

Innumerable verses, lame and destitute of 
rhythm, and a quantity of sorry prose, ap- 
peared in Claudia’s ‘‘Review.” 

Naturally not a cent came into the treasury 
and, as the expenses were heavy, the modest 
fortune of the ungifted writer disappeared like 
smoke. 

Disaster, complete and crushing, was the 
sole result of her enterprise, and penury with 
its train of bitterness overwhelmed the miser- 
able and unhappy Claudia. 

The day at length arrived when she was suf- 
fering from hunger, for she had absolutely 
nothing to eat. Goaded by the sting of neces- 
sity she applied to a charitable institution beg- 
ging for a modest meal. 

“What can you do?” asked the Directress. 

Feeling utterly ashamed she replied that she 
knew nothing of a woman’s domestic duties 
and that she had wasted her patrimony in at- 
tempting to live by her literary endeavors, and 
then and there she made a sincere confession of 
her weakness, remembering that she had 
turned a deaf ear to the advice of her good 
mother. 

She was received into that House of Mercy, 
but upon condition that she would do penance 
129 


9 


in atonement for her fault. She was assigned 
to work in the kitchen, where it was her duty 
to prepare the food for the inmates of the es- 
tablishment. Surrounded by pots and pans 
her time was now occupied in plucking the 
feathers from poultry. When the plumage of 
the fowl was fluttering around her, as she was 
engaged in her prosaic task, she thought how 
her inevitable destiny was being verified, as 
there was not the least doubt that she was 
living by the quill. 



130 



A Sad Christmas^Eve 



ELL, children, the Child of God 
was born at Bethlehem. He was 
sweet as the dawn, bright as the 
stars and smiling and gentle as 
Aurora. . . 


In this way, I usually began every year 
131 




to tell my children the charming story 
of the coming of the Lrord; while the little ones, 
nervous, filled with wonder and sitting 
a-straddle upon my knees, begged of me to tell 
them all of the details of that beautiful and 
tender poem. 

“A celestial brightness filled the grotto, and 
the baby smiled with joy. In the white and 
pink of His bewitching face, the shepherds saw 
something unspeakably sublime, and their rude 
hearts palpitated as they fell upon their knees 
and adored Him. The chilly blasts of Decem- 
ber rustled amid the branches of the trees pro- 
ducing harmonious murmurs that sounded as 
sweet as the music of glorious harps. . . 

And so I was obliged to follow the thread of 
the story stimulated by the tender rapture that 
beamed upon the faces of my little ones. 

How sad are the things of life! Formerly 
my imagination lent itself freely to the legend, 
and it was my custom to embellish the story of 
the Infant Jesus, relating to my children all 
the incidents of that marvellous miracle. 

“The shepherds presented their offerings,” 
and my gestures, as I rehearsed the story, were 
sufficient to satisfy the sweet curiosity be- 
trayed by my little ones. 


132 


The reason is that on former occasions, 
their mother was with us, irradiating the ex- 
quisite peace of her beautiful soul, her sweet 
and caressing virtues illuminating our home as 
she presided over her family group. My 
thought quickened as I gazed upon her, and 
the story never flagged but ran on and on inter- 
minably until our young ones were all sunk 
in the peaceful quietude of slumber. 

How we kept vigil until they should awaken 
in the morning, when amid joyous exclama- 
tions, they would tell us that the Infant God 
had brought them plenty of toys! We would 
not sleep that night, but agitated and anxious 
we impatiently awaited the moment when the 
children would open their eyes in the morning. 

Now my heart, filled with an aching 
sorrow, compares the present with the mem- 
ories of the past! 

Sad and solitary, and oppressed by the recol- 
lection of the happiness that once flooded my 
life with light, I hover near the couches of our 
children. 

Mayhap I am not alone ! Guided by the In- 
fant God, perhaps, her soul in the plenitude of 
its immortal life, invested with all the glories 
of heaven, may come gently, very gently, to 


133 


our home, bringing to us the holy kiss of her 
blessing and consolation. 



134 



The Joker Outwitted 

lILVIA was much amused at the 
stranger who had just entered her 
luxurious reception-room. 

What extraordinary manners 
this provincial displayed! The 
cloth and the cut of his garments proved that 
the rustic visitor was not on friendly terms 
with the fashions of Paris. 



135 


Comfortably seated upon a sofa, in front of 
the gentle young lady, he explained to her that 
his visit was due to an earnest desire upon 
his part to see her father. 

Now, Silvia was a lively young lass, en- 
dowed with a strong propensity to jest; and 
heedlessly she spent the days of her youth plot- 
ting practical jokes, and playing tricks upon 
her relatives and friends. 

The reprimands that she received from her 
father made no impression upon her mind, and 
she felt quite happy when, unknown to the 
author of her existence, she was gibing some 
neighboring child who was caught in a trap 
that had been set by herself. 

On the occasion referred to, Silvia felt that 
she was inwardly convulsing with laughter at 
the words of the strange goose-cap seated 
before her, who, with his awkward and affected 
manners, gave unmistakable evidence of his 
rustic character. 

This visitor from the mountains was visibly 
disturbed by the ceremonious courtesies of the 
young lady, and she burst into hearty laughter 
as the poor man blushed. 

In order to embarrass him all the more she 
personally brought him some large, glistening 
bonbons. He took the plate and with incred- 
ible simplicity, said: 


136 


“I want a fork.” 

To Silvia nothing could be more comical 
than this request, and she hastily brought the 
utensil asked for by the big, soft simpleton. 

This personage clutched the fork with un- 
usual energy and began to drive the prongs of 
the instrument into the shining goodies with 
which he had been served by Silvia. Naturally 
the dainties fell about on all sides, while Silvia, 
greatly diverted, laughed like a little fool at 
the manners of her clownish visitor. 

This and other roguish pranks were in- 
dulged in by the daring damsel, until at last the 
stranger, taking his leave, presented his card 
to be given to don Simon Barrundia, Silvia’s 
father. 

In the evening, while sipping her cup of 
fragrant tea, Silvia related to her father the 
story of the man’s visit and the incidents that 
attended it. With her lively wit, she described 
his ridiculous appearance; but don Simon was 
unable to imagine who the man could have 
been. The girl then remembered and fetched 
the visiting card which had been left for her 
father. Don Simon Barrundia through his 
spectacles read the card aloud and exclaimed 
with a cry of enthusiasm: 

“Pedro Zeladon ! It was he ! My best friend 
and one of the wisest of men.” 


137 


‘‘What . . blurted Silvia. 

“Yes/’ said her father, “the joke has been 
on you. He is a highly cultivated gentleman 
who dwells in the country, remote from the 
turmoil of the city. He was a model of correct 
deportment in the days of our youth. The joke 
certainly has been at your expense.” 

And now don Simon laughed as he looked at 
the crest-fallen girl who felt her spirit troubled 
by the useful lesson which her father’s friend 
had given her. 



138 




The Soles of the Shoes 

HE shoe-polisher presented herself 
^ at the hour designated in the legal 


summons. 

The judge fixed his eyes upon 
Ji. the accused and noticed that she 
was a small, old woman, with lively, bright 


139 


eyes and a Roman nose. She was citron-col- 
ored, and her movements were quick and agile. 
The appearance of her countenance was almost 
agreeable, as it was animated by a constant 
smile. 

The following dialogue ensued between her- 
self and the Judge: 

“What is your name?’" 

“Maria de Chiribisco.” 

“What is your occupation?” 

“I am a polisher of shoes.” 

“The women of your town accuse you of the 
crime of witchcraft, and they assert that you 
have relations with the devil.” 

“But, sir! ” 

“They claim that you resort to sinful rites 
and that by diabolical arts you foretell the 
future.” 

“This charge, your honor, is the result of the 
ill-will which they bear towards me. It is only 
to those who are about to get married — and 
only when they come to consult me — that I 
predict how the contemplated union will turn 
out.” 

“You pretend, then,” said the judge, “that 
you have the gift of prophecy?” 

“I can prove,” replied the accused, “by wit- 
nesses worthy of credence, that I am able to 


140 


predict the character, qualities and defects of 
the women who are about to be married.” 

“Who can testify to these facts?” asked the 
judge. 

“There are many men,” said the accused, 
“who can give testimony in this matter; but 
that there may be no question as to the moral 
character of the witnesses, I would ask the 
Court to summon the Prefect and the Mayor 
of the city, as these gentlemen know, by per- 
sonal experience, whether or not my predic- 
tions have been verified.” 

The judge began to take an interest in the 
case; and as the accused was within her rights, 
he issued an order summoning the above- 
named officials to his court. 

They arrived almost simultaneously and 
having been informed of the object of the un- 
usual call to court, they testified under solemn 
oath, that a few days prior to their nuptials 
they had each consulted Maria de Chiribisco, 
and that the aged fortune-teller had foretold, 
with marvelous and inexplicable precision, the 
virtues and vices of their intended wives. 

“Her prediction was absolutely true!” cried 
the Mayor. “She informed me that my in- 
tended bride would be a very limb of the devil, 
and time has proved that this soothsayer, 


141 


witch, or whatsoever she may be, was in my 
case able to read the future.” 

‘‘On the other hand,” exclaimed the Prefect, 
“her predictions concerning my intended 
spouse were delightfully rosy, for she told me 
that my wife would be a perfect model; that 
she would be faithful and submissive. Her 
announcement of my ineffable good fortune 
has been verified to the letter, and I can de- 
clare that I am perfectly happy with my wife.” 

“Perhaps she was acquainted with your in- 
tended wives, and based her conclusions upon 
her knowledge of them?” queried the judge. 

“We are certain,” replied the witnesses, 
“that this old woman had no acquaintance 
with our future wives.” 

This evidence having been given, the judge 
was convinced that he could not hold the ac- 
cused for any crime or misdemeanor, and act- 
ing upon the dictates of his upright conscience, 
he ordered that the fortune-teller be set at lib- 
erty. 

Before leaving the court-room, Maria ap- 
proached the judge and said to him: 

“Would your honor like to learn the secret 
of the enigma?” 

“I would thank you to explain if to me,” he 
replied. 

“Well, judge,” said this little old womati 
142 


with the Roman nose, ''you know that I earn 
my livelihood by polishing shoes. On every oc- 
casion that a man comes to me seeking infor- 
mation as to his future fate in the bonds of 
matrimony, I reserve my decision until the 
next day, and I immediately repair to the house 
of the woman who is engaged to be married 
to my client. There, I offer my services, ask- 
ing the intended bride to allow me to polish 
all of her foot-gear. I make the request so 
skillfully, that whether they wish to or not, 
they end by letting me have my way, and I 
set to work at once. In a short time the shoes 
and slippers of the lady who is about to sub- 
mit herself to the sweet yoke, are all clean and 
shining. While I am engaged upon my task, 
I notice the condition of the soles of the shoes. 
Modest girls, who are endowed with placid 
spirits and gentle domestic virtues, do not wear 
out the soles of their shoes, for these girls re- 
main at home discharging the duties of the 
house; while, on the other hand, those women 
who live outside of their homes, wandering 
here and there and running from pillar to post, 
trapesing the streets and going to balls and 
parties, wear down the soles of their shoes, 
leaving nothing but a very thin insole under 
their feet. By this means I have been able to 
form my predictions: A good wife will she 


143 


be who wears out her shoes within the house, 
and an incorrigibly bad one will she be who 
wears them out in gadding about the streets.” 



144 



Blows and Flowers 

OQUE, the simple carpenter, was 
listening to his daughter, Giselda, 
who was making her complaint to 
him. 

For a very trifling fault, accord- 
ing to her own story, her teacher had given 
her a beating about the head and left traces 
of the scholastic punishment upon her fair face. 



10 


145 



“But, why did she punish you?” asked 
Roque. 

“Merely because I threw a small ball of 
dough at her, and as my aim was good, the 
dough went into her mouth and she swallowed 
it. While she was coughing all the girls in the 
class were laughing at her.” 

“Well,” said the father, “you have proven by 
your own statement, that you have not a par- 
ticle of culture about you. Your act was ex- 
ceedingly vulgar. The punishment which you 
received was all too slight for your conduct, 
which was that of a bad, uncultivated and un- 
ladylike girl.” 

On receiving this reproof, Giselda, who was 
weeping bitterly, gazed at the stern face of 
her father, and exclaimed: 

“So I cannot have any revenge on her for 
slapping me in the face?” 

“On the contrary,” replied her father, “when 
purified by remorse for your bad action, you 
must go to the school and ask pardon from 
your teacher, for whom you should have the 
highest respect and veneration.” 

“Oh, papa, do not make me do that,” she 
pleaded. 

Giselda’s father conducted her into the 
orchard which skirted the side of the house. 
They halted under an orange tree whose trunk 


146 


was straight and stout and whose branches 
were richly laden with leaves and flowers. The 
foliage contrasted with the whiteness of the 
blossoms, while some of these which had 
already fallen lay scattered around the tree 
and presented the appearance of a bed of snow- 
drops. 

Roque caused Giselda to cudgel the tree, and 
at each blow given by the child a shower of 
fragrant and snowy blossoms descended upon 
her head. 

Giselda continued to whip the tree; and she 
then experienced the very sweet sensation of 
having flowers tumbling about her head, strik- 
ing her in the face and falling upon her gar- 
ments in profuse abundance. 

‘‘My daughter,” said Roque, “you should re- 
semble this tree. To those who cultivate your 
heart and develop your mind, you should re- 
turn, in exchange for the scolding and punish- 
ment they inflict upon you, an answer similar 
to that of the orange tree which you have just 
been beating. With inexhaustible patience it 
has responded to every blow with a shower of 
resplendent and fragrant blossoms.” 

Like the harmonious notes of a celestial 
harp these words fell upon Giselda’s heart 
awakening in her soul a sentiment of sincere 
repentance. 


147 


And while her dress was still bespangled 
with fragrant orange flowers, and the bloom of 
her cheeks heightened by the blush of guilt, she 
set off radiant and beautiful as a bright May 
morning, in search of the teacher whom she 
had offended. 



148 



The Bag of Truths 

O you remember the story of the 
headful of rags?” I asked my little 
daughter. 

“Yes, papa,” she replied, “it was 
all about Violeta whose head grew 
bigger and bigger because §he thought so much 
about laces and ribbons.” 



149 


“Very good, now I am going to tell you 
another story, somewhat similiar to that one.” 

Maria del Milagro was a wonderful girl in 
elegance and beauty. When she let down her 
hair, which was as bright as the rays of the 
sun, it fell in profusion upon her shoulders. 
Then her beautiful face appeared as if it were 
framed in an aureole of golden splendor, and 
the light that emanated from her blue eyes, 
fringed as these were with curling lashes, gave 
her the appearance of a celestial virgin. 

Her parents worshipped her, and her beauty 
was a topic of conversation among the neigh- 
bors in the city. 

When she took a walk in the street, a hum 
of enthusiasm pursued her footsteps. 

“She is an angel from heaven !” 

“She is luminous as a star !” 

“Sweet as the dawn!” 

“Whiter than snow!” 

“Her voice is melody !” 

Expressions of praise, such as these, might 
be heard wherever she went along the public 
streets. 

Upon a certain occasion, a female servant 
of our heroine, threw cold water on that en- 
thusiasm which the opulent beauty of Maria 
del Milagro aroused in the heart of the multi- 
tude. Domestic servants are frequently indis- 


150 


creet, and this particular one told an eager 
circle of listeners of a defect which was mar- 
ring the perfection of her mistress’s charms. 

“A swelling appeared upon her back,” said 
the servant, “and her parents have consulted 
numerous doctors, none of whom has been able 
to remedy the trouble. This hump on her back 
grows larger every day, and to-day she is con- 
fined to her room for she was suffering so 
much with it that she could hardly stand on 
her feet.” 

This news, of course, spread in all direc- 
tions and furnished material for a thousand 
and one comments by other girls. The hump 
which had developed on Maria de Milagro’s 
back served as an inexhaustible theme for con- 
versation at evening parties, and innumerable 
little stories, some of them quite witty and 
humorous, were told about the strange malady 
which had overtaken Maria. 

Medical science declared itself powerless in 
the presence of this disease. The young lady, 
lying upon her face, was moaning and groan- 
ing pitiably, weighted down in her bed by the 
now enormous hump. 

In the midst of the terrible anguish which 
the parents of the sick girl were suffering on 
her account, they learned that on the rough, 
steep rocks of a certain mountain there dwelt 


151 


a venerable old man with a long beard. This 
man was a sort of hermit who professed to live 
a solitary life. He was a man who had with- 
drawn from the noise of the cities and their 
disease-laden air, and now being in constant 
communication with Nature itself, he had 
learned the secret of human life. 

This ancient hermit was unable to resist the 
prayers of Maria’s afflicted father, who went 
upon his knees and begged that old man to 
come and save his daughter. The hermit, tak- 
ing his wide-brimmed hat and his staff, set 
out for the city. 

After making an examination of the beauti- 
ful patient, the hermit questioned her mother 
with regard to the intimate habits and the 
moral life of the daughter. The hermit then 
remained for a long time buried in reflection, 
and after he had given the matter deep 
thought, he spoke as follows: 

“This case is a striking example of the in- 
fluence of the mind upon physical life. One of 
the principal duties imposed upon our mental 
faculties is that of never uttering falsehood. 
We are strictly obliged to speak the truth, and 
in doing our duty in this respect our souls, 
limpid and serene, exist in harmonious concord 
with the body. 


152 


“Notwithstanding the beauty of the picture 
presented by the charming physical perfections 
of Maria de Milagro, her moral nature has 
been deformed by an inclination to tell lies. 
The truth, which she should have spoken, 
wanted liberation by speech, but she con- 
demned Truth to remain as a prisoner within 
her, while she continued to tell the most dread- 
ful lies one after the other. Hence her life has 
developed itself in an atmosphere of deceit. 
She has lied to her parents, to her brothers and 
sisters, to her friends and other acquaintances, 
thus injuring her spiritual constitution. As 
the truth had no outlet, it has formed this 
swelling, or hump, upon Maria’s back.” 

Shortly afterwards the hermit approached 
the couch of the patient and while the spec- 
tators of the scene were silent, spellbound with 
wonder and admiration, he dragged out from 
her back the sack of truths which had been 
gradually forming in her body on account of 
her life of lies. 

And so the hump of Maria de Milagro dis- 
appeared, thanks to the wisdom of the hermit. 

Since that time, Maria has steadfastly per- 
severed in her determination to be absolutely 
sincere in all of her actions and to be always 


153 


/ 

ardently devoted to truth, in accordance with 
the teachings of the law of God. 



154 



The Lantern 

ONA PAQUITA raised her spec- 
tacles and gazed with severity 
upon the face of the pretty Cata- 
^ lina. 

(f “I am about to speak plainly to 
you, and I shall not mince my words in telling 
you the simple, unvarnished truth.” 

155 



“I don’t know what you are driving at,” ex- 
claimed Catalina, her face wreathed in smiles. 

‘‘There you go, with that sly and cunning 
face of yours! But I am going to make myself 
perfectly clear. You are aware that I was 
bound to your mother by ties of very sincere 
friendship; and on account of that friendship, 
I believe that from her seat in heaven she is 
urging me to remove the bandage that is blind- 
folding you.” 

Catalina, still smiling, said: 

“Come to the point and explain yourself. I 
am dying of curiosity to learn why you are so 
irritated.” 

“To you, it seems to be a trifling matter in- 
deed! I see your name in the public papers 
every day, furnishing a theme for stories and 
newspaper squibs.” 

“Why certainly ! They all speak well of me, 
and you ought to congratulate me.” 

“And that affords you pleasure! The idea 
that you are the leader at balls, on the drives 
and in the promenades, fills your soul with 
vanity; and above all you are pleased when the 
newspapers make public announcement of 
these facts. You have worn out the soles of 
your shoes in the whirl of the dance, and what 
is much worse you are deforming your heart. 
You flatter yourself that everybody pays trib- 


156 


ute to your beauty, and you are at the apex of 
happiness when you are the object of the ad- 
miration of a casual acquaintance. You are 
charmed when the trumpets of fame extol the 
silk and satin of your petticoats! When they 
describe the tints and style of your hats ! And 
you are still more delighted if they state that, 
as you passed by, you left a whiff of sweet and 
subtle perfume in your wake. They will say it 
is an invisible impression, an ideal suggestion 
exhaled upon the air by the fragrant beauty of 
your person. You have tasted the honey of 
adulation, and instead of being disgusted at 
the idle, empty vaporings of those hackneyed 
scribblers, your soul is more and more inflamed 
with the fever of publicity. That ridiculous 
passion is becoming a craze with you. 

‘‘The popularity that now plays, like a 
zephyr, about your beautiful brow, will soon 
develop into a hurricane of envy and calumny. 
In the present age, mediocrity is the price of 
life. The merit of the few produces irritation 
in the hearts of the many. Those who elevate 
themselves above the level of the average, seek- 
ing prominence, only bring upon themselves 
the hatred and rancor of the world.” 

“But . . .” stammered Catalina, seeking to 
excuse her weakness. 

“Do not try,” said Dona Paquita, “to justify 


157 


the desire for notoriety and applause by which 
your spirit is devoured. It is a malady of the 
age! It is the idea of seeing one's name in 
print that inspires this passion. In some per- 
sons this childish vanity is so deeply rooted 
that they would be capable of performing a 
dishonorable action so as to afford occasion 
for the commentaries of reporters. In spite 
of all, however, this habit has its inconven- 
iences in social life.” 

“I cannot conceive what harm can be occa- 
sioned to human beings by having praise be- 
stowed upon them.” This remark was made 
by Catalina, who was rather provoked by the 
plain, familiar sermon which her old friend 
was preaching to her. 

“Listen to what I am going to narrate to 
you,” said the loquacious Dona Paquita: 

“In a very remote epoch, the women of a 
certain kingdom lived in a state of war — a 
stone-throwing war — which they reciprocally 
engaged in as soon as the dark night spread its 
black mantle over the earth. The women at- 
tacked one another with terrific fury in the 
midst of the darkness, just as in the present 
day they disfigure one another by speech, gos- 
sip and calumny. Such was the impetus with 
which they engaged in the fray that they re- 
sembled spectres from Avernus. They 


158 


wounded one another by mere chance, without 
method or concerted action, and without even 
seeing the faces of their antagonists. In this 
manner, the kingdom became a veritable 
shambles. 

“A plan which she conceived to be exceed- 
ingly clever occurred to the mind of one of the 
combatants. At the earliest opportunity, when 
the eternal rivals were striking each other in 
the face and violently hurling boulders at each 
others’ heads, she appeared in the lists carry-* 
ing on her head a small lantern that gave forth 
a brilliant light and illuminated the girl’s head. 
The stratagem produced for the bearer of this 
utensil a result entirely different from that 
which the girl had anticipated. Her head, be- 
ing illuminated, it was the target at which all 
the other women discharged their missiles. She 
was almost killed, everyone, without excep- 
tion, having made her the object of their blows. 
She learned the severe lesson that the carrying 
of a lighted lantern upon one’s head was an 
extremely perilous performance in the cruel 
and merciless struggle for existence. In her 
heart, she sincerely determined not to indulge 
in the bad practice again. 

“Profit by the moral of this story,” continued 
Dona Paquita to Catalina, who was really very 
dear to her. “Cease bearing upon your head 


159 


the lantern which you have been lately carry- 
ing, for unless you extinguish it, friends and 
enemies alike will find some favorable moment 
in which to attack both your virtue and your 
honor.” 

Catalina was not laughing now. She was 
pondering seriously upon the philosophy of 
the story narrated to her by the elderly lady 
who had been the friend and companion of her 
mother; and in the presence of this friend, 
Catalina promised that she would never permit 
herself in the future to be a theme for vulgar 
chroniclers; but that, on the contrary, she 
would make a heroic struggle to conquer her 
immoderate desire and feverish anxiety to be 
constantly on public exhibition. 



160 



The Immortal Amaranth 


N the grateful shade of the large 
trees that adorned the flowery and 
fragrant garden, Martha and her 
mother were holding a conversa- 
tion. 


Martha was relating to her mother the 



11 


161 


faults of her husband James, who had lately 
become greatly changed in his manner of life. 
The demonstrations of affection which he 
formerly showered upon his wife were now ex- 
tended with a certain indifference, almost with 
reluctance. 

A flood of tears fell from Martha’s eyes; and 
the sobs that issued from her bosom almost 
stifled her speech. 

Her mother, sad and severe, listened atten- 
tively to that painful story, her heart over- 
whelmed with sorrow because of the distress- 
ful situation of her daughter who told her that 
happiness and love had taken flight from her 
home. 

“The wretch abandons me and comes home 
with treason in his countenance.” 

“And what have you done to keep him by 
your side?” said her mother. 

“Dignity before everything, mother. I up- 
braided him with his bad conduct and showed 
the anger with which my soul was filled, pay- 
ing him back for his harshness and indiffer- 
ence.” 

“You have done wrong, my daughter. 
Sweetness and good humor accomplish more 
than the impulses of passion.” 

“But, mama, a woman cannot be a beast of 
burden, and bear patiently with the faults of 


162 


her husband. It is our duty to protest with 
spirit against sinful conduct.” 

“The woman who possesses angelic qual- 
ities must exercise a certain exquisite tact 
in the midst of the troubles of life. A tranquil, 
placid soul that is great enough to stifle its 
own selfish emotions, can the more easily 
secure the return of happiness, for a woman 
with a soul, will not soil her lips by uttering 
irritating accusations.” 

“Jesus said of the repentant Magdalen: ‘Her 
sins which are many, are forgiven, for she loved 
much,’ and in the gentle philosophy of that 
sentence the entire doctrine of clemency and 
meekness is contained.” 

“I understand that, mother,” said Martha, 
“but my heart is fired with the flames of jeal- 
ousy, and I want the false traitor to feel the 
pain of my recriminations.” 

“Well, then, it is your duty to overcome the 
hydra of pride which has found lodgment in 
your heart. The asperities of anger wound 
like thorns. They produce incurable wounds 
in the soul. The secret of conjugal peace con- 
sists simply in not uttering the hostile expres- 
sion which the evil one whispers in one’s ears. 
The angry word, withheld in time, remains 
cloistered in the soul, and it afterwards be- 
comes metamorphosed into a sentiment of 


163 


benevolence, and we congratulate ourselves for 
all time for having placed a restraint upon our 
tongues, and for having suppressed certain 
words or expressions which might poison the 
life of a family.” 

And as Martha’s mother observed that her 
words were having some effect upon the sensi- 
tive nature of her daughter, she continued in 
this wise: 

‘‘Look at the Rose of Castile that opens its 
velvet petals in the middle of this garden. To 
produce that magnificent flower the gardener 
had to overcome the dry nature of the soil by 
the use of fertilizers, irrigation and patience; 
he had to set out the plants and to bestow 
great care upon them so that they might grow 
erect. In the meantime he was stung by in- 
sects and wounded by thorns but, at last, he 
succeeded in obtaining the object of his labors, 
and to-day that shrub displays amid the ful- 
ness of its dark-green leaves the triumphant 
purple of its royal petals. 

“You should have recourse to the same 
rational methods in your conduct as a wife. 
Avoid all acrimony and, like the patient gar- 
dener, seek to convert the arid heart of your 
husband into a fertile field of beauteous plants 
giving forth wholesome fragrance. Fertilize 
that soil with the celestial dew of meekness 


164 


and lenity, and so soften your expressions that 
the delicate flower of love may spring to life 
anew!” 

Those words, musical and crystalline as the 
notes of a harp, awakened a feeling of repent- 
ance in Martha’s heart and in the shade of the 
large trees that graced the flowery and fra- 
grant garden she promised her beloved and 
saintly mother never to allow herself again to 
be the victim of the baneful passion of jealousy. 

While thus the girl spoke, the Rose of Cas- 
tile, blooming in the center of the garden, sent 
forth all its fragrance upon the air, while in 
its gorgeous petals a mysterious and inexplic- 
able joy seemed to palpitate. 



165 



Eyes That See Not 


Tm sharp point of the pen- 

I B, J I cil against my forehead and un- 
I 1 ^ ^^ I consciously turning it with my fin- 
^ gcrs, until it produced a sensation 

of pain, I was endeavoring to find 
in some corner of my mind the subject of a 


166 


story. My ideas had evidently gone on strike, 
for no matter how earnestly I tried, I found it 
impossible to reduce to intelligent, concrete 
form the incomplete mental processes that 
were in agitation in my mind. 

While in this state of semi-reverie I heard 
my little son, who had not yet quite attained 
the manly age of four and a half years, exclaim: 

“You are very pretty!” 

I immediately looked into the adjoining 
room and, unseen myself, I noticed that the 
little fellow had gently placed his arm around 
his sister’s neck and that he was sweetly 
caressing her. 

“You are very pretty,” he again said to her, 
while with his dark, melancholy eyes he gazed 
into her blushing and smiling face. 

The little lady seemed to be very happy — 
quite a woman, in fact — to receive such flat- 
tery, and overflowing with innocent joy she 
broke into crystalline laughter which floated 
harmoniously upon the air until swelling into 
a wave it seemed to break upon my breast and 
bathe my heart with its celestial spray. 

I continued to watch the children, and I 
beheld their ruby lips unite in a fraternal kiss. 

I then thought that the melodious sound of 
that kiss would rise among the spheres of glory 
and reach the heart of their mother who, be- 


167 


yond the skies, is living the radiant life of 
immortality. 

My thoughts were floating in a vast sea of 
tender memories. . . . 

Returning to the realities of life, I again set 
myself to the task of finding the subject of a 
new story. 

Suddenly I heard the voice of Pirrin. He 
was making an infernal noise, upsetting and 
tossing things about generally. I arose from 
my desk and proceeded to watch what they 
were doing. The little fellow’s eyes were then 
blindfolded and having taken off his shoes and 
socks, he was walking about at hazard, tread- 
ing upon whatever chanced to be under his 
feet. He collided with chairs, tables and play- 
toys; and he was unable to remove the hand- 
kerchief with which he was blindfolded. He 
was just about to give himself a severe knock 
against the wall when I, almost angry, com- 
manded him to stop his play at once. 

“You must be mad, Pirrin!” I said to him. 
His face was quite red from the exercise and, 
fatigued and perspiring, he explained to me 
the mystery of their diversion. 

“Look, papa, Cora told me that we have eyes 
in our feet,” and he pointed to his ankles as 
he said this. “Then I put a bandage around 
the eyes in my face for I wanted to see with the 


168 


eyes in my feet. But I saw nothing, nothing 
at all. . . .” This he related to me, with a 
most plaintive tone. He could not understand 
how those bony projections were eyes, and yet 
that they did not see. 

Having caressed and soothed him, I re- 
turned to my seat exclaiming: 

“Ah, Pirrin, you little rogue; you have given 
me what my drowsy intellect refused. You 
have provided me with a subject for this little 
story.” 



169 



Broadway Snow 



WISH to relate to you, my 
dear child, something that 
occurred to me while I was 
on my way to visit you at 
your college in Suffern! 
Listen! 


170 





I was on Broadway, walking towards the 
railway station. The snow that was lying 
upon that great highway was of a most extra- 
ordinary color. Trampled by millions of feet, 
it had been quickly changed from a state of 
virgin whiteness into an almost black mass. 
Certainly, it was not the snow of which the 
poets sing! 

Such was my thought as I entered the train 
that was to carry me to Suffern. 

Comfortably seated in the railway car- 
riage, I beheld the gleaming whiteness of the 
fields adjoining the road. 

Men, animals, objects, all were covered 
with a milk-white mantle. The snow-flakes 
were falling gently, slowly, through the air, 
as though they were afraid to soil their 
celestial purity by contact with the earth. 

Yonder, in the distance, lay New York 
whose fevered multitude in eternal movement 
made of that city a modern Babylon. 

And the train pursued its serpentine 
course, stopping here and there from time to 
time to receive and discharge passengers. 

I turned my gaze from the white, polar 
landscape through which we were rushing, 
and fixed my attention upon a news paragraph 
which I found in the morning newspaper. 
Five thousand suffragettes had had a parade 


171 


in Fifth Avenue. The spectacle was said to 
have been beautiful and picturesque. The 
reporter with artistic instinct, in detailing the 
event, had exhausted the powers of his imag- 
ination and the colors of his palette. 

With mind beset with the ideas attending 
the complex problem of feminism, I began to 
make mental speculations. 

Will my daughter be a suffragette? 

Shall I behold her advocating the political 
rights of woman? 

I experienced an indefinable uncertainty 
and my mind was troubled by thoughts of 
this character. 

Meantime, it continued to snow. The un- 
varying aspect of the landscape combined with 
the motion of the train made me very, very 
sleepy. 

The impressions wrought upon my senses 
by external objects commingled and blended 
together in the mysterious crucible of my 
mind, and I fell into a dream .... 

The train stopped upon the summit of a 
very high mountain. A ball of Broadway 
snow was still clinging, I thought, to the 
wheels of the carriage in which I was seated. 
The snow upon the mountain-top was hardly 
able to recognize its sister from the city. But 


172 


soon the two snows were conversing, and I 
listened to the dialogue: 

“You don’t know me? I came from New 
York. I fell in the great city where I enjoyed 
the refinements of human culture. Moneyed 
magnates and the most beautiful of women 
have rolled over me in their carriages, and I 
have enjoyed the caresses of their steps as I 
lay prostrate beneath their feet.” 

“Sister,” said the Mountain Snow-flakes, 
“we have fallen upon this hill. The feet of the 
human rabble have never sullied our immac- 
ulate purity. Here our untarnished whiteness 
gleams through simple, innocent life. When 
we shall be dissolved by the golden beams of 
the sun, we shall be transformed into crystal- 
line waters, pure mountain streams, fit to 
assuage the pangs of thirst, whilst thou, sister, 
wilt leave but a black trail soiled by contact 
with the city horde. As snow-flakes, our mis- 
sion is quite distinct from that of men. . . .” 

The train stopped suddenly and I awoke. 
We had arrived at Suffern! 

Still confused by that dream, I again took 
up the newspaper I had been reading. The 
article on the subject of the Fifth Avenue 
parade reappeared before my eyes. On be- 
holding it this prayer sprang spontaneously 
from the deepest recesses of my heart: 


173 


“Oh, my God! save my daughter from suf- 
fragism, for I fear that the contact of political 
life might transform my adored child into 
Broadway snow.” 



174 


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